Genesis
by Victoria May
Summary: Series complete! A series of connected stories, detailing the lives of Jim and Blair after the events of TSbyBS.
1. Into the Beyond

Disclaimer: Jim and Blair belong to Petfly Productions as does the sentinel and guide. No money is being made by this fic, this is purely for entertainment purposes only.   
  
Into The Beyond  
By: Victoria May  
  
I stand and study the man before me for quite some time before he cocks his eyebrow quizzically at me-as if asking what is so unusual, so interesting to hold my attention so. I can only shrug as I continue my search of his angled face. Noting the small laugh lines around his eyes, accenting the worry lines creasing his high forehead. What a contrast to his youthful features-his nose turning up just so above his full, pink lips. Clear blue eyes shine brightly, laughing at some unspoken joke-probably due to the fact that he'd obviously won a round of cosmic luck with mother nature, resulting in his boyish good looks. My eyes are finally drawn up and marvel at the wild wave of hair on top of this man's head. Small tendrils curl lazily while others twist and turn with wild abandon. But the short, neatly shaved sides and back keep it in check.   
  
I'll be honest. I know why I am staring at this man-this stranger who continues to stare resolutely back at me. He reminds me of me, yet not. It's hard to explain. His small build, his inquiring eyes, his playful smile-these all remind me of me. But this man is so far different than the man I know as myself. This man radiates confidence while I tremble in fear at what is to come. This man looks at the world with optimism and an excitement I haven't felt since I started work on my doctorate. This man knows happiness while I find myself still searching.   
  
My attention is drawn away momentarily as a toilet flushes behind me. I quickly swing my eyes back at the man and smile. The man also smiles, a warm, friendly smile guaranteed to win friends many times over.   
  
I startle as a voice teases in my ear,  
  
"You have got to get over this love affair with the mirror Blair. We all know that you're drop dead gorgeous and the ladies would kill to get one night alone with you. Must you continue reminding the rest of us of how gangly we are?"  
  
I laugh and drag my eyes away from my reflection. Pinning my gaze on my companion I hold up my hands in surrender. "Sorry. I can't help it. I can't reconcile what I see when I look in the mirror with who I am." I turn and point at the mirror. "That is not me. Besides, you've got me beat hands down. Tall, dark and handsome. That's what the ladies go for, not short, geeky and nearsighted."   
  
Arthur slides aqua green eyes towards me and gives me a funny look as he finishes washing his hands. He grabs a paper towel and quickly wipes his hands, tossing its soggy remains into the trash. Turning towards me he grabs my shoulders and turns me back towards the mirror.   
  
"Blair, that is most definitely you. I don't know what you see when you look in that mirror, but I see Blair Sandburg, Cultural Attache for the Redwood Corporation. I also see my friend Blair who is delaying our dinner. Now snap to it man-our dates are going to think we're school girls who can't attend to our private business alone. They'll think we're telling secrets in here," Arthur pulls open the door and looks back at me.  
  
"Okay, okay. I'm coming." I steal one last peek at the man in the mirror and shake my head as I follow my friend out of the restroom. I try to shake off this new dismal mood that has befallen me somewhere between the appetizers and dessert. It is a common feeling now, one that I am familiar and comfortable with. It wraps around me like a warm blanket on cold nights when all seems meaningless and foreign. On those nights, I often find myself staring in the mirror, wondering how I came to be here. I wonder what happened to Blair Sandburg?   
  
Oh, I'm still Blair. You could almost say I'm the new and improved Blair. But something about that doesn't quite ring true. At least, not to my mere, mortal ears. Sure I still look like Blair-at least, sort of. I mean, a man can't change that much that he becomes unrecognizable, even to himself-can he? It doesn't take me that long to realize who I'm looking at when I step in front of those glistening portals. I'm sure it's just the hair. After all, it was a shock to see who was under all that hair when I started the police academy. I could barely recognize myself back then. And when I decided to have even more taken off-okay, I admit it, it was my idea to shave off the sides and back. But who can resist a luscious lady pointing out a hairstyle that, in her opinion, would make me look absolutely 'to die for', as she put it. And even I have to admit that the end result was pretty good.   
  
So, maybe the hair has something to do with this lingering feeling of doom. But I wouldn't put my money on it. After all, I'm not that anal about how I look. Really. Sure, I gave people a hard time in the past for suggesting I cut my hair or change the way I dress. Not so much because I was so attached to how I looked, but that it was expected of me to protest. I mean, I had to stand behind the Blair Sandburg that existed back then. If I couldn't do that, how could I expect anyone else to accept me as I was? At that time, I didn't want to change. I liked being the neo-hippy witch doctor punk. I would have-changed that is-if need be. And I did change, slowly over the years. Though I doubt anyone really noticed it happening.   
  
To be honest, the change started almost immediately. It was so instantaneous that even I didn't notice it right away. Gone was the grunge look that I had liked so much. It was comfortable, at least that was what I told myself through my many years of graduate school. In reality, it bugged the professors. How's that for honest? Yes, I Blair Sandburg, ever the radical of the group took it upon himself to drive the professors absolutely mad. And I succeeded too. Score one for Sandburg. But don't blame me for that. Personally, I put all the blame on Naomi. After all, how can one expect a kid to grow up with a parent so entrenched in her anti-establishment ideals to just 'fit in'?   
  
I was on the end of my grunge obsession when I stumbled onto the living embodiment of my doctoral thesis. A cop to boot. So, losing the extreme look wasn't too hard. I just dug a little deeper into my closet and started wearing some of the sportier stuff I had started buying. No reason to make waves with the pigs-right? I can still hear Naomi's voice when I called her that first night after Jim made me his partner. 'Blair, sweety, I know I wasn't really there for you to go through a rebellious stage as a teenager, so I can understand a certain karmic need to make up for that. But the pigs?' Her voice had screeched so loudly I thought I would be deaf. I just thanked the gods that I hadn't mentioned the switchman or the bomb Jim threw off the bus. I don't know if Naomi could have survived news like that. It took her years to finally accept that I wasn't going to have a nervous breakdown or something from all the violence.   
  
I guess that's another way that I'm different. I'm more confident-or not. I am after all, spending an inordinately excessive amount of time looking at my reflection denying that it's me looking back. Basically, I'm in a position of power at the Redwood Corporation. I hold in my hands the power to make or break business transactions that stand to make the company millions of dollars. My veto-my opinion, means something and I can't make a mistake. If that's not nerve wracking, I don't know what is. To stand in front of the board of directors of this company that took a risk on me when I was looking at a life of flipping burgers, and justify why we can't merge with some multi-billion dollar corporation is way more intimidating than staring down terrorists and gang-bangers. Well, maybe a close second to looking into the eyes of Lash as he pretended to be me. But come on, Lash versus financial ruin for a fortune 500 company? Which do you think is more terrifying? Okay, I'll take Lash any day over being the one responsible for causing financial havoc for millions of stockholders. I mean, have you ever looked into the eyes of a frenzied stockbroker? Way scarier than Lash man.   
  
I guess you could say I have officially merged into the 'establishment'. Yes, Naomi knows, but she's happy for me-really. Not only does my hair scream 'trendy' so do my clothes. I wear suits. Okay, not often, but I own several. I do business dinners, on my company card. Isn't that a hoot? Blair Sandburg, owner of a platinum business credit card. And what still amazes me is that no one gives me a second look when I hand it over. Now that's saying something. I kind of miss all the sidelong glances I used to get on an almost daily basis. When I'm not wining and dining potential clients, feeling out their true intentions towards the environmental aspect of their business, or sitting in on a board meeting, I dress casually. Slacks, button down shirts, with sweaters over top. If Rafe could see me now.   
  
So why do I ogle myself every time I'm near a mirror? I haven't the slightest clue. I'm happy. I like the way I look. I like my job. I've got good friends, one of whom I'm double dating with tonight. I don't miss my old life. I let that go long ago. I was truly surprised at how easily I absorbed into this new life. Sure, the road was hard at first. I mean, what twenty-eight year old wants to find himself flipping burgers at McDonalds? You thought I was kidding about that-I wish. I tried to find a job. I applied at all the local schools, technical colleges and area universities. No one wanted a fraud on staff. Then I tried not so local schools-it's amazing how fast word travels. Blair Sandburg was truly and steadfastly banned from the world of academia. But hey, I'm a survivor. I just applied elsewhere. Like museums and the historical society. I tried to submit a few articles to magazines. I didn't even get the rejection letters. Finally, I applied for Greenpeace-well, you can guess how that turned out. I understand, I really do. They're out there risking their lives to protect the environment. Why bring someone on board who is an admitted liar-thief to be honest. After all, if I hadn't denounced my dissertation, I'd be a rich man today.   
  
Well, I'm not going to gain any answers hovering outside the men's room. I shake off as much of the melancholia I can and squeeze my way back to my table. I Approach the table with a smile on my face and bend down and gently kiss my date. Angeline. Man, she is beautiful. Her parents knew what they were doing when they named her. She is an angel-inside and out. Oh, but I don't let that fool me. She's also a shark. She's the vice-president of the cosmetics division. We met at my first board meeting and I made it a point to sit next to the Latina goddess as often as possible after that. She finally asked me to dinner, stating I was taking too long to work up the nerve to ask. Of course I agreed. Oh, we've taken our time getting to know one another, but we've both stopped dating others. I guess you could say we're an 'item'. I've never been a part of being an 'item' before. It's both frightening and wonderful at the same time.   
  
Angeline's parents are from Argentina and applied for citizenship before she was born. Angi was born in Texas. She returns to Argentina as often as she can, visiting her grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. I think that is what brought us together-our ties to South America. Her heritage and my obsession. No, not sentinels. I was in love with South America long before I had ever heard of sentinels. She wants me to join her on her next trip down-I don't think I'm quite ready to face the family yet. I wouldn't say my reluctance has as much to do with culture shock as it has to do with dealing with her large extended family. After all, I grew up with Naomi. Aside from the occasional surprise visits with her brother and his family we were all we had. Sure Naomi had aunts and uncles and cousins of her own, but when her parents died, she saw no need to keep up the relations. All that negative energy from their dislike of her lifestyle was hard on her chi.   
  
"Are you okay Blair?" Angi asks as I sink into the empty chair next to her.   
  
"I'm fine," I answer, smiling at her as I take her hand in my own.  
  
"He was staring at himself again," Arthur volunteers as he picks up his wine and sips.  
  
I Shoot a glare at my friend and feel my hand being tugged gently upwards. I sigh as a kiss is placed on the back of my hand.  
  
"Blair, why do you do that? You're perfect-you know that, don't you?" Angi asks, her voice thick with love.  
  
I swallow as I feel my heart skip a beat. I have never felt as loved as I do when I am with Angeline. She always knows the perfect thing to say.   
  
Shaking my head, I squeeze her hand and say, "I'm not perfect, but thank you for saying that. Now, are we going to have dessert or just sit and look at it all night?"  
  
Releasing my hand, Angi reaches for her chocolate mousse and takes a bite. I laugh as she closes her eyes and lets the rich chocolate melt in her mouth. I can feel myself melting right along with the chocolate. Angi eating chocolate is probably the most seductive thing I have ever seen. Tempted to watch her indulge in her favorite vice, I give in to the pull of my own raspberry smothered cheesecake. Finally, we have all finished our desserts and have decided on a nightcap before we call it an evening. Seeing our waiter disappear into the kitchen, I volunteer to order from the bar.   
  
Making my way back through the throng of people squeezed into the posh restaurant, I wonder why we chose this particular establishment. There were, after all, several quaint and out of the way love nests we could have chosen. But we've had a good time, crowd and all so I won't complain. Pushing my way to the bar, I grab onto the railing and lean forward. As the bartender is placing the drinks down in front of me, I'm jostled from behind and spill one of the drinks.   
  
"Geez, I'm sorry, I'll get you another," a smooth voice reacts as a long arm is signaling the bartender to refill my drink. I stand frozen-I know that voice. I could pick that voice out of a crowd at a Jags game. Slowly I turn and look at the man pressed behind me. He is looking over my head at the TV screen in the corner.   
  
"Jim," I say, but even I can barely hear my voice above the din in the pub. Clearing my voice, I try again. "Jim!"  
  
Startled, Jim looks down and glances at me than past me, trying to find who called to him.   
  
"Jim," I say again and this time his gaze settles on me and his eyes grow wide as recognition dawns.   
  
"Sandburg?" he says, more of an exclamation than a question.   
  
"Yeah," I answer and grin at him. "How are you doing man?" I ask. I'm surprised that I'm so pleased to see him even after all this time.  
  
"I'm good," he answers, still staring at me in shock. As if he realizes that he is being rude, he shakes his head and asks, "How are you? What are you doing these days?"  
  
I can almost see his brain working to digest what his senses are telling him. I look good, I'm healthy and I'm happy. I also look more straight-laced than he ever has in his entire life. Jim on the other hand looks relaxed and comfortable in jeans, a tee shirt and a pullover sweater. His hair is still short, but a bit spikier on the top while the sides are shaved. He's also grown a beard and mustache. Not anything too wild or bushy-this is trimmed neatly and contained to his chin and upper lip. He looks good-better than I've ever seen him. I try not to think about that too much.   
  
Still grinning, I turn more towards him and answer, "I'm good. I'm working at the Redwood Corporation. Man, you look great," I add. I can't help myself. He looks amazing. I was really worried about him for awhile. I know it sounds egotistical to think that he would fall apart or sink into some zone without me there, but some sick and demented part of me hoped for it and then cursed myself for thinking anything so horrible.   
  
Jim grins back and picks up his drink, taking a sip. "Thanks. I feel really good. But hell! Look at you! Who would have thought it-Blair Sandburg, yuppy."   
  
I glare and throw a mock punch at his arm. "Don't even go there man! I am so not a yuppy. But yeah, I've made some changes. I've got a really good thing going on," I add, to sooth Jim's fears I tell myself, knowing that really I just want him to know that I didn't drown this time. I lived, and I lived well.   
  
I'm amazed at how calm I am around this man. How 'right' this feels to be sitting here talking with him. I can hear a small voice, that sounds suspiciously like the Blair of two years ago, demanding that I yell and insist on an explanation for what went so horribly wrong a lifetime ago. How this man who called himself friend could string me along, again, with promises of trust and partnership only to cut me loose before I even graduated the academy.   
  
But oddly enough, that's not what I ask. "You still in major crimes?"   
  
Instead of answering, Jim turns and nods his head towards a corner table. Squeezed into a corner, sit Simon, Joel, and Henry. Nodding my head, I turn quickly away. I don't want them to see me. Of course if they keep straining to see the TV above their table they wouldn't see an elephant if it came crashing through. It's not that I have anything against the Major Crimes gang-I mean, I'm not harboring a grudge or anything. What happened should have been expected. I was just too naïve to realize it ahead of time. I should have known that it wouldn't have been as easy to join their world as I had thought. I mean, I was the one touting the 'thin blue line' spiel. I may have been on the outskirts of the action for almost four years and even shared in social outings, but I hadn't earned that spot. It was a freebee that came with being Jim Ellison's tagalong. But going through the academy, carrying a badge, that meant earning that coveted position amongst the ranks. I needed time to earn those friendships as an equal. Time I didn't have. Not their fault.   
  
I had to wonder again why I wasn't feeling any anger at this enigma sitting next to me. I should be seething. Instead, I notice how right this feels. Being next to Jim. Not pretending to be anything but two men getting reacquainted.   
  
"Still at the loft?" I ask, ever curious.  
  
"Yeah. I don't think I'll ever move. Caroline hated it but it just screams home to me," Jim answers. "How about you? Where are you living?" he asks and I can tell that he really wants to know.  
  
For one split second I'm taken aback by his interest. He hadn't cared where I'd ended up after he'd asked me to move out of the loft. The intense feelings I'd thought I was over come rushing back-the hurt, the betrayal at being asked, no told, that I wasn't wanted any longer. Wasn't welcome. Oh sure, he gave me plenty of notice. I mean, I had only just begun the academy when Jim threw this at me at dinner one evening. 'Sandburg, I think maybe you should find your own place once you graduate. It's just time,' he'd said. And I could see it made perfect sense to him. But those words burnt a hole through me more thoroughly than any bullet ever could. Feeling somewhat smug despite my own urging to keep this friendly, I couldn't help but rub in my good fortune.   
  
"I'm renting a condo at The Lighthouse," I answer. I can see Jim's face contort into a look that screams 'I'm impressed!' Of course he is, The Lighthouse Condominiums are pricey due to being on the water. I snigger and add, "Don't look so impressed; I get a discount for being employed by Redwood."  
  
Jim looks interested and leans forward. "So what do you do at Redwood?"  
  
I grin and god help me, I bounce in my seat. I've been trying to break myself of that habit and here I am bouncing like I'm five years old. But I can't help myself. I'm proud of my work at Redwood. Proud that they took a chance on me and proud that after two years I'm still there. Taking a quick drink from my glass, I answer.  
  
"I'm a cultural attache for the company. They do a lot of work in and out of the United States. They're constantly expanding and merging and needed someone who could meet with the execs of those companies and the locals around the factories and find out if they are environmentally and culturally friendly. They pride themselves on their reputation for cultural awareness. They've even won awards. I was lucky to get hired."  
  
Jim nods. "That's fitting. So, how did you go about winning this dream job?" he asks, with a teasing smile.   
  
I can feel my own smile slip and struggle to regain it. "It wasn't easy," I say quietly. "Let's just say that it was a hard road, but in the end I came out on top." While I am enjoying the ease at which Jim and I have found ourselves talking and catching up, I don't feel like sharing this particular hurt with Jim just yet. That thought alone stuns me as I'm already assuming that I'll be seeing Jim again.   
  
I realize I've been drifting as I feel a hand on my knee. I look up and my breath catches at the intensity of the gaze I am faced with.  
  
"Blair. I want you to know-I'm sorry. I really am. I'm happy that you've found something good." He stops talking as someone walks up. I can feel them pause at my elbow and before I can look, I feel an arm snake its way across my shoulders and a finger trace over my left ear. I look around to see Angi there.   
  
"Hey Blair. I hope you're not deserting me. I didn't want to break up your talk with your friend, but it's getting pretty late."   
  
This is what I love about Angi. She doesn't just sit and let others trample all over her. I feel bad about leaving her sit there with Arthur and Marissa for who knows how long. Smiling at her, I grab her hand and turn to Jim. "Jim, this is Angeline." I'm tempted to add, 'The love of my life; the keeper of my soul' but I know that would be a bit extreme. Instead I settle for, "Angi and I have been dating for a while. Angi, this is Jim, an old friend." I look over at Jim to see if I've called it wrong, but he looks pleased at hearing me call him friend. "I've got to take off man. It was great seeing you," I pause, unsure if my next question will be welcome. "Maybe we can get together again?"  
  
Jim visibly relaxes and returns my smile. "I'd like that a lot."  
  
"Great!" I blurt out as I grab for a napkin. "Let me give you my number. Just give me a call and we can plan an outing." I purposely threw this ball into his court. I wasn't going to go through another round of calling him and never getting an answer. That was old news and if Jim wasn't going to call, I didn't plan on sitting by the phone like a love sick school girl.   
  
After that night, I settled back into my old routine. Wooing Angeline, sniffing out new clients, volunteering at the local Salvation Army-teaching adult education classes twice a week. The latter having been prompted by a Community Involvement policy at Redwood. I'd never planned on teaching again, in any form. But when I found out about the required volunteer hours for Redwood employees, I was drawn to this position. Or rather, I was pushed towards it.   
  
Marla Newberry, head of the Personnel Division, and my beneficiary. I owe all of this to her. She took a chance on an admitted fraud and liar. I never expected to be hired by Redwood. But true to my nature, I applied and hoped for the best. I was stunned beyond words when I actually got a return call and an interview. Marla gave me a chance no one else had given me. The chance to give one good reason for my actions. 'Loyalty' I answered, unwilling to say more. Smart lady that she is, Marla filled in the rest and offered me a chance to rebuild my life. All I can really remember of my talks with her is my immense relief that she didn't outwardly sneer when I stated my most recent work experience. After all, who would really want to tout their esteemed position at the burger god?   
  
It was Marla who contacted me about the position at the Salvation Army. She knew I had been a teacher, and being a good observer of people herself, knew that it was something I dearly missed. So instead of being informed and told to apply, I found myself already signed up with a schedule to boot. Go figure. But hey, I'm not one to complain about having such a staunch advocate in my corner. It was something I'd thought I'd never have again.   
  
So I went on with my life. Weeks passed. I swore I wasn't going to let this bother me, I really did. But who was I kidding? Of course I was waiting for the phone to ring. I tried not to feel disappointed. I mean, hadn't I had enough rejection in my life already? But I had really thought he would call. I was sure of it. Then, just when I had finally given up all hope, the phone rang.  
  
It was Jim, with an offer of dinner at the loft. An apology for not calling sooner, something about a murder case which stubbornly refused to crack. And now, finally, it had and he wanted to get together. It was an amazing feeling-the rush of resulting sensations at hearing his voice. All the built up resentment I hadn't realized I had been harboring was suddenly gone. I felt like I could breath again. I didn't know I was suffocating. So we made the plans and I agreed to meet him Friday evening at the loft. He was cooking he'd said.   
  
So I bought a bottle of a fine dinner wine, picked through my wardrobe until I found something nice but comfortable, and canceled my date with Angeline. She understood, of course. She wished me luck and made me promise to give her a detailed run down when I got home. Angi knows who Jim is. She knows how hurt I had been by his sudden dismissal from his life. But she hasn't once asked me why I want him back in my life. Instead, she quietly-or not so quietly-supports me. The third degree. You've never felt like you're under a spotlight until Angi gets her hands on you. The woman knows how to get a story out of you. Not that I mind. It's nice knowing we have no secrets. Yeah, she knows about the sentinel thing. How could she not? But what she knows, that the rest of the world doesn't, is that it was the truth. So understandably, she's not too happy with Jim at the moment.   
  
Friday evening arrives and I made my way steadily to the loft. I try to ignore the butterflies beating a frantic pulse in my stomach. I haven't been back to the loft since the day I moved out. Little did I know that day marked the end of everything I held sacred. My home was gone, my friendship was gone, and soon my new life was to be gone too. So of course I am feeling a small amount of trepidation at returning to the scene of the crime.   
  
But I pull myself together and amble up the rickety staircase. I ignore the elevator, wanting more time to prepare myself for what was destined to become a confrontation. I can hear a door above opening and glance up. Jim is standing in his doorway, looking at me with a strange smile on his face. Sentinel senses in fine working order I see.   
  
"Blair," he says, as he pulls me into a hug. I can't help it-it feels right and I wrap my own arms around him in a quick enthusiastic squeeze back. "Come on in," he says as he ushers me inside.   
  
I pause in the doorway and swing my eyes over what was once my home. It is still warm and friendly-inviting even, but there is nothing to say that 'Blair Sandburg once lived here'. Instead, it screamd 'JIM!' in capital letters. But not in the barren way it once had. Gone was the green wall, replaced by a warm beige. A large, metal entertainment center adorns the beige, complete with a huge television set and accessories. The fireplace is lit warming the loft and I shrug out of my coat. I walk in deeper and notice the new plants tucked into all the nooks and crannies. Almost like a jungle. What strikes me most, is the large jaguar print tossed over the back of one of the sofas.   
  
My eyes take on a life of their own and slide towards the open doors leading to the 'spare room'. Jim catches the look and waves his hand towards the glass doors.   
  
"I'm just using it as a guest room. Stuck a computer in there-for bills and stuff," he adds.   
  
I curse me feet as they draw me closer to my old room. I am surprised to see that he had made changes here too. Erasing the past? Or maybe just rebuilding the future. Gone were the paneled walls-in their place are more of the soothing beige. A large, cream area rug adorns the floor. A futon is pushed against the wall where mine once lay-I am glad to see that he wasn't so afraid to keep anything that reminded him of me. Of course this futon is made up in neutral tones with only a few threw pillows. A collection of wildlife paintings are scattered across the walls. I nod my approval and catch Jim's small smile out of the corner of my eye.   
  
I am having a hard time being mad at Jim, even in the face of finding my old life so completely eradicated.   
  
I turn away from the small room and join Jim at the table where he is laying out dinner. Lasagna. Gods, I missed his lasagna. I take a deep breath and inhale all the good aromas. Jim lifts the bottle of wine I had blindly handed him as I came in and starts to pour two glasses. Finally, he sits and looks at me.   
  
"You're not angry at me," he states, as if he already knows the answer.   
  
I smile and take a sip of wine. Shaking my head, I meet his eyes. "I don't know why I'm not. I should be-every part of me screams out that I should be ripping your head off right now. Instead," I pause, unsure how to continue.   
  
"Instead," Jim continues for me, "This feels right."  
  
I nod. "Yeah, it does. But what does that mean? What feels right? That you decided one day you didn't need me anymore and that was that? Or that now that we've stumbled across each other we pick up where we left off?"  
  
"No, I don't think it has anything to do with either of those things," Jim says. I freeze, my glass halfway between my lips and the table. Seeing my disdain, Jim rushes to continue. "I think where we are right now-who we are, and meeting again, coming together now as we are, is right."  
  
I relax and set my glass back on the marble table top. "You think this was meant to be?" I ask, unbelieving. Who would want to believe that so much hurt, so much pain was 'meant' to happen? But I guess Jim could. He wasn't the one who found himself shunned one day by his best friend and partner. Who called and received no answers. Who found himself giving up his life for one that held no meaning to him. No, he wouldn't understand at all.  
  
"I'm sorry," I hear him say and all the rest come through as well. 'Sorry you're hurting. Sorry I let you down. Sorry I let my fear based impulses act for me. Just, sorry'.   
  
"So," I say, suddenly unsure of how to progress.   
  
"So tell me how you got this dream job," Jim prompts as he picks up his fork and takes a bite of his gooey, steaming lasagna.   
  
I take a bite off my own plate, drown it with more wine and wipe my mouth. I launch into the tale which led me first to the absolute pit of despair and then to salvation. I tell of all my failures and let downs, tell of my stint as burger flipper at the McDonalds in the warehouse district-the only one willing to hire me, and tell of Marla and her blinding faith in me. I tell of the last two years serving this large corporation and the resulting happiness I finally found. When I finish, Jim's face reflects years of bottled sorrow.  
  
"When Simon offered you that badge, I really wanted you at my side. But I was ignoring what my heart was telling me. You weren't meant to be there. It wasn't your place. It was mine. But after what you did for me, I didn't know how to help you. I didn't want to desert you," Jim explains.   
  
"But you did," I add, knowing it was time for the truth.  
  
"Yes, I did. As soon as things settled down, I felt this need to be free. I felt like I had to be on my own. And geez, you had only just started the academy. How was I going to say, 'Gee Sandburg, maybe this isn't the right answer.' I still had no answers and I could see how hard it all was on you. So I pushed aside these growing urges and did what I hoped would be enough to find peace."  
  
"You asked me to move out," I answer. "But it wasn't enough, was it? I was still there, where you felt I didn't belong. No longer just supporting you, but invading your territory."  
  
"No!" Jim denies. "It wasn't about that. It was about, if felt like, time to move on. I didn't have an answer for you, but I knew you didn't belong there. Not because it was my place, but because it wasn't yours. We both needed to move on, but I didn't know to what."  
  
"So you shut me out," I say, refusing to look at Jim. The anger, the abandonment I had felt so long ago was crashing back, overwhelming me.   
  
"I think I was acting on instinct. I knew you weren't supposed to be there, but I felt guilty that you had no where else to be. So instead of talking about what I was feeling, I just acted on impulse. I did whatever I could to get you to leave," Jim admits.  
  
We sit silently for a few minutes, each reflecting on our thoughts.   
  
"I knew," I say. Jim looks up at me with his eyes wide.  
  
"I knew," I repeat. "I was scared. I had no where to go. I didn't know what to do. I wasn't ready. I resented you for forcing me. I wasn't ready," I say again as I take a deep breath and try to find my center. Oh, I may look different, and I may work for the bourgeoisie, but I haven't forgotten my upbringing. I still had something through the hard times to reassure myself that Blair Sandburg wasn't gone forever.   
  
"Oh god," Jim's voice cracks as his hand reaches for mine. "I am so sorry Blair. Why don't you hate me?"  
  
"How can I? We were both feeling the same thing. You just reacted the way you always did. On instinct. And I tried to hide, like I always did. But it didn't work. Not this time. I guess it was just time for us to grow up. And if we weren't going to get that on our own, than something more powerful stepped in and forced our hand."  
  
I close my eyes and sit back in my chair. "Jim, you know it was just a game, right? I think I owe you an apology . . ." I'm cut off as Jim says,  
  
"No! You don't owe me anything. This wasn't your fault."  
  
"But it was. Can't you see that yet man?" I reach into my pocket and pull out a small plastic bottle which I set in front of Jim.   
  
Jim picks it up and reads the label. "What is this?" he asks.  
  
"Zoloft. It's an anti-depressant. I started it after I got my insurance at Redwood. I'm back in therapy man and my therapist suggested I try that for awhile. We've been cutting back on the dosage-I'll probably be done with it in another three months."  
  
Setting the bottle back on the table, Jim looks at me and shakes his head bewildered. "So what are you trying to tell me? That I wrecked your life so completely you had a nervous breakdown or something?"  
  
I laugh and tuck the bottle back inside my pocket. "No man. What I'm trying to tell you is that I let this sentinel thing, let my life, get completely out of control. I was too involved to see how demented everything had gotten. I was living on a dream. My life held so much uncertainty growing up; I never knew where I was going to be or what I was going to be doing. So I latched onto the idea of sentinels and built it up into something bigger than it ever was. I built you up man. It wasn't you making you feel like some inhuman freak-and don't tell me you didn't feel that way. It was me. And I am the one who is sorry.  
  
"This whole experience, I didn't think I was going to make it. But I did. It was like waking out of a dream. I think reality just finally caught up with us and kicked us in our asses."  
  
Jim stares at me like I have grown another head. He still doesn't get it.   
  
"Come on Jim. This isn't the jungle. It's the twenty-first century. The new millenium. We didn't need to be living out of each others' back pockets. It was unhealthy. Maybe sentinels and their guides needed such close quarters deep in the jungle, but modern day society has so much more security to offer." I stop talking and pull out my cell phone. "Look how easy it is to reach you," I dial the loft number and the phone behind the counter rings. I fold up my phone and tuck it away again.   
  
"So you're not my guide?" Jim asks, still struggling to understand.  
  
"Hell yeah I'm your guide man! But we-I, spent too much time focusing on sentinels from long ago. I never tried to apply what I know, what I studied for years, to us. We aren't in the jungle. We're in Cascade. We have television and newspapers and radios to alert us to danger. We have phones and fax machines and computers to use to communicate. No more smoke signals. We hop in our car or on an airplane or train and cross miles in just a few hours. We were letting ourselves be smothered by the other when in reality, we should have been living our own lives."  
  
I stop my lecture and gulp down some wine. "How are your senses?" I ask.  
  
"They're fine," Jim answers. "Better than they've ever been since I ran into you at the restaurant," he adds.  
  
"But we weren't together the last couple weeks. We saw each other that once. And you're saying you're senses are better after just that minimal contact. That proves my point man! We don't have to be attached at the hip to be sentinel and guide."  
  
Jim looks at me sadly and begins to clear the table. I sit in silence listening to him scraping our plates into the disposal. Finally, his voice drifts out of the kitchen.  
  
"So, has it always been just a sentinel and guide thing?" he asks, his voice defeated.  
  
I jump up from my chair and storm into the kitchen, arms waving wildly. I am ready to pull my hair out, but it's too short to get my fingers into.   
  
"Don't you get it yet man? I told you a long time ago-it's about friendship. That's why it feels so good to be together. Not because of some ancient sentinel-guide imperative."  
  
His hands immersed in soapy water, Jim looks at me. "So you don't regret it?"  
  
"No, I don't. Do you?" I ask, sure of Jim's answer.  
  
"No. I don't regret it. We're both better because of it. You may feel like you need to apologize for dragging me into some dream of yours, but I just want to thank you. I needed you back then. More than you'll ever know. We needed each other-don't you see that?" Jim looks at me with a deep understanding in his blues eyes that startles me.   
  
"We both needed to grow up Blair," he continues. "I needed to stop hiding. I had to learn that I alone am responsible for my happiness. I couldn't get it from my dad or the army or the PD, or even from Blair Sandburg. I had to learn who Jim Ellison is. And thanks to you, I have."  
  
"Jeez Jim," I mumble as I drop back down into a chair.   
  
"How's that for insightful?" Jim asks playfully, as he flicks soap suds my way.   
  
"Scary," I answer honestly. I'm not used to this self-assured Jim Ellison. I'm usually the one with all the answers. With a wicked gleam in my eye, I bounce off my chair and up to Jim. I hold out my hand,  
  
"Pleased to meet you, my name's Blair."  
  
Jim grasps my hand and pulls me into a hug. "Smartass," he mumbles. Releasing me from his embrace, he leans against the counter.   
  
"So I hear there's a wild poker party tomorrow night, if you want to crash," Jim offers.  
  
I hold my arms up in a warding off gesture. "Oh man, Angi will kill me if I don't take her out tomorrow night. She made me promise to give her a complete run down on tonight."  
  
"Oh, a kept man," Jim chides and I laugh.   
  
"Yeah," I happily agree.   
  
"Congratulations," Jim says with a twinkle in his eye. "So how about the next game? You up for crashing in on a bunch of old cops?"  
  
"You got it man. I wouldn't miss it for the world." I run my fingers through my short curls. "If only just to see the looks on their faces when I walk in looking like this."  
  
"On second thought, I'm not so sure I want their deaths by heart attack on my conscience," Jim teases.   
  
"Listen smart guy, I've got to go." I move to grab my coat and Jim intercepts me. Pulling me into a hug once again, he murmurs into my ear,  
  
"Don't let it be another three years."  
  
I laugh and pull away. "I have it on the authority of the Shaman of the Great City that the sentinel will be seeing his guide quite a bit. Don't you worry."  
  
"I'm not worried," Jim says. "After all, I know where you live."  
  
"Oh great, tease the short guy," I joke as I pull open the door which I just now notice is still the same forest green color of old. Some things will never change.  
  
I leave and feel a peace that wasn't here before. I know now that everything I have gone through, was just another cycle, like life and death. Once again I have returned to my sentinel. Once again, I have found my friend.   
  
END 


	2. Reacquaintances

Reacquaintances  
By: Victoria May  
  
Boy oh boy. I have been waiting forever to win my money back from Brown, and tonight is the night. That man is a card shark-no doubt. They should have put a warning label on him when they shipped him from the factory. 'Danger! Do not feed. Do not engage in gambling activities. Keep you hands and feet out of the water.' Yep, that'd have done it. Oh, I know. My own fault. Letting the boy sit there all calm and cool, letting us think he was bluffing. Bluffing my a. . . anyway, I'll know better tonight. Henry Brown is going down.  
  
I let my eyes wander over the snacks spread out on the counter. Chips, pretzels, pork rinds-I shudder at that. How Ellison can eat that crap is beyond me. How that man has lived this long without sporting a potbelly is a mystery-and when someone finds the answer they need to bottle it and sell it to overworked police captains like myself. It's not like I have time to sit at the gym and actually burn off the excess. And besides, I'm a man. I shouldn't have to be counting calories. I should be able to eat what and when I want. Eyeing the spread hungrily, I open the fridge and begin to stack a row of lite beer. Oh well, can't beat 'em all.   
  
I pull open a drawer and rummage through the mass of hooks, miscellaneous tools, rolls of tape and twine and finally wrap my fingers around a pack of cards. About time. I've been looking for these things all night. Can't play poker if you can't find the cards. I shuffle into the dining room and throw the deck on the table. It slides into the chips and sends a few flying across the table. I quickly do an inventory in my head; cards-check. Chips-check. Snacks-check. Chairs-oh crap. Ellison's bringing someone with him tonight. He won't say who, but my money's on his new girl. Won't say who it is, but he has definitely been seeing someone. Showed up last month to Rafe's with this shit-eating grin on his face like he'd just won the lottery.   
  
He denies that he's got a new woman in his life, but all the evidence points to the contrary. He's smiling-a lot. He's been solving case after case, making Brown and Daniels wonder what the man has been taking recently. Oh, I'm positive he's clean. No uppers, or downers for that matter, for Jim. Not with those senses of his. Sure, he's got them in control. Had them working for him instead of against him ever since Sandburg left. Makes you wonder. But drugs? I don't think so. Control only goes so far. From what he and Sandburg told me when they first started working on his senses, drugs either don't work or incapacitate him. God forbid anyone ever figures out that little dandy.   
  
I'm sure it's a woman. The guys have a pot on whether she's a blond or a red head. My money's on a sultry red head. Taggert swears he saw Ellison with some bronzed goddess a few weeks ago. Long flowing hair, legs that go on forever. The man was literally drooling as he described who he thought to be the lucky little lady. I guess we'll find out tonight. Jeez, I hope the man isn't getting married. He's come a long way, but that-he's just not ready.   
  
The last few years, Ellison just . . . blossomed. There's no other way to put it. The man was good before-better than anyone else at the PD. But now, he's magnificent. In line for promotion, but he doesn't know it yet. The chief's still working out a few details before offering Jim the captain's chair in Homicide. Hell, they'd give him Major Crimes if they thought they could get me out of it. But I'm just not ready to call it quits yet. I run a tight ship, and we have a hell of a solve rate. There's no way I'm walking away from that just yet. Ellison will just have to wait 'till I'm ready to kick back and enjoy the good life.   
  
If Jim comes in here tonight announcing an engagement, I'll congratulate him. I'm not a spiteful man. I'll wait until later, when he's all alone, and corner him. Preferably somewhere they won't hear the commotion when I ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing. It's not that I don't want him to be happy. I do. He deserves as much happiness as the next guy. But I haven't sat back and watched him make so much progress just to watch him sabotage it with a foolhardy thing like marriage. Oh sure, someday. I'll even stand at his side and be his best man. But not today.   
  
Jim Ellison may look like a full-grown man. He may act like he knows what the hell he's talking about when he opens his mouth. He usually does. He may live on his own, pick out his own clothes and feed himself. But despite his forty-one years, Jim Ellison is an adolescent. If Jim were as old chronologically as he is emotionally, he couldn't buy a beer. Oh sure, he's an adult. In fact, I think he's more mature now than he's ever been in his entire life. But he's just getting the hang of it. He has finally found and embraced a confidence that just makes him radiate. Some days he's blinding to look at. He's enjoying what he's doing, he's better at it than ever before, and he seems adapted-finally-to taking care of himself.   
  
I don't want to bad mouth Sandburg-it's rude to think ill of someone who's not here to defend himself, but what the hell was going on with those two? I've never seen any two grown men so dependent on one another in my life. I honestly don't know who to blame and who to pity between the two of them. That was the most textbook example of a love-hate relationship I've ever been forced to witness. I have only myself to blame. What was I thinking when I let Jim talk me into a ride along? I should have seen how unhealthy their relationship was. To think I'd enabled them for almost four years.   
  
Part of me wants to blame Jim. He played on the delusions of some wide eyed college kid who'd looked like he'd found his pot of gold. In fact he had. When I heard about his press conference and his refutation of his dissertation, I couldn't believe my ears. I thought the publication of his paper, the money, the movie rights-the whole kit and caboodle was what the partnership was all about. I guess I thought wrong. I've never been prouder of anyone as I was that day. Blair Sandburg had finally become a man in my eyes.   
  
I guess that's why I have a hard time placing blame. As much as I want to put this all on Ellison, I'm not surprised that he took the kid in. He's a bleeding heart. He was as needy, if not more so, than Sandburg. He gets attached-men, women, children. It doesn't matter. I'm sure it has something to do with feeling abandoned himself. Estranged from his father and brother, losing his mother early-it's hard on a man.   
  
I should have bought a clue when Naomi Sandburg barged into my office demanding that I keep Blair out of the action. I don't know what I was thinking. I was in as deep as Jim. To let an unarmed observer go undercover. Against everything I had ever learned, but what did I do? Yep, let the dynamic duo walk all over me and convince me he had to be there. Ha! That's a hoot. Jim has shown beyond a doubt that he never needed Sandburg tagging along like some lapdog.   
  
I realize I have been standing in the middle of my dining room, quickly becoming another piece of furniture when I have guests arriving any minute. Looking around, I remember what I was about to do and shake my head. Must have Sandburg on the brain. Strange, I haven't thought about him in months. Yeah, months. I felt pretty bad when he up and quit. I guess I never saw it coming and then he was gone. To be honest, I don't know if I would have fought very hard to get him to stay. Jim didn't seem to need him, and he didn't seem very happy. But I have my suspicions that too had more to do with Jim than the job. So yeah, I couldn't help but wonder what happened to him after he resigned. Far as I know, he hadn't contacted anyone since the day he left. Even Jim didn't know where he went.   
  
I walk out to the kitchen and grab one of the chairs from the table. Whoever Jim is bringing, they'll either have to just sit and watch or hope someone wants to sit out. We have a full table tonight. I snigger as I realize I hadn't even finished my own thought about why Jim shouldn't get married. I must be getting old to let my thoughts ramble on like that. Oh well, things to do, people to greet.   
  
I'm just squeezing the aluminum-framed chair between two oak chairs when the doorbell rings. I rub my hands together and grin. Oh yeah, I can feel it. I'm going to be lucky tonight. I school my face into one of welcome and open the door.   
  
"Brown! My man-looking good," I greet the nervous man on my stoop and I can't help myself, I taunt, "Feeling lucky?"  
  
"Uh, Captain. Good to see you too." Brown quickly catches his bearings and smiles wickedly. "Lucky? Me?" he queries as he ducks under my arm-my arm so placed across the door jam to intimidate, frighten, make grown men whimper. But not Henry Brown. Oh no, the man just grins and ducks on through. We'll see who's so cocky tonight, won't we?   
  
Rafe nods in the humble fashion I was aiming for and I pull my arm away. "Rafe," I greet.   
  
"Captain," he replies as he begins stripping out of his trench coat. Ever the fashion model, Rafe is decked out in tie and sports coat. Oh, he'll strip down to his shirt, undo the top button and lose the tie. But not until the pressure's on and the sweat begins to drip down his face. He has an image to maintain after all.   
  
Another car pulls up and Joel eases himself out from behind the wheel. He's still recovering from the bypass. Jeez, that news hit like a ton of bricks when he told me he had to have bypass surgery done on his heart. It was no surprise though. The man worked a high stress job and had been overweight for years. But he pulled through it like a trooper and is back at work. I can't believe he's back in the bomb squad though. But, as he says, it's behind the desk. We've talked about it and he's planning on retiring soon. But he has three more years to go before his penchant kicks in. I just hope he lives that long.   
  
"Simon!" his voice booms from down the walk.   
  
"Hey Joel, how're you doing?" I ask as I pat the approaching man on the back.   
  
"Doing good, doing good," he answers as he hands me his jacket. I'm still taken aback every time I see him. Sure, he'd lost weight before, but the surgery took so much out of him. The man's slender frame looks sickly still.   
  
"Simon, I'm fine. Quit worrying," Joel assures as he catches my concerned look.  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Just help yourself to some of that chow in there. I can't believe I'm saying this, but you could use a few pounds."  
  
"You don't have to tell me twice," he says as he heads into the kitchen. He'll fill his plate with some of the snacks, but in the end he'll end up pulling out some of the veggies I keep in the drawer and help himself to one of the lite beers. Who can blame him-I'd be shaking in my boots at the thought of having to go through another one of those surgeries.   
  
I'm just closing the door when something blocks it. I pull it back open and wave my hand impatiently. "Come on, holding up the game," I mutter as Daniels and Taber push their way through.   
  
"Sorry Captain, got held up Iverson's," Taber apologizes. "He had to have those little barbecue wieners," he adds as he shakes his head.  
  
"Yeah, and I'm sure I won't see you eating any porky," Daniels chides the pudgy man he arrived with.  
  
I hold up my hands before these two get any uglier. Trademark Daniels-Taber. Taunt until one of them gets upset. Like five-year-olds, I swear. "What is this, a daycare? Can't you two just get along for five minutes?" I ask, aiming my most intense Captain glare at them.  
  
"Sorry sir," I hear in stereo. I nod towards the dining room. "Now get out of here and get some food, before Brown eats it all." I grin as I watch the two detectives scurry out of the room. Not the sharpest on the block, but they're good people.   
  
Now where the hell are Ellison and this mystery date of his? I pull a cigar out of my pocket and light it. Oh, I know it'll drive Ellison batty, but hey, it's my house. And right now, the suspense is killing me. I perk up as I hear the rumble of Ellison's Excursion pulling up on the street. Finally.  
  
I pull open the door, anxious to get a glimpse of the lady. I chomp on my cigar and nearly take a bite off the end when I realize it's not a lady climbing out the passenger side. What the? I catch sight of a short guy who's dressed as impeccably as Rafe. A short black pea coat and a blowing black scarf cover the man's face too much to see who it is. I don't think it's Ellison's brother, but I could be wrong. As the pair draws closer the door, I see that the guy has on slacks and from what I can see appears pretty conservative. Trust Jim to bring some stiff to poker night. The man has come a long ways, but he has his moments.   
  
"Jim," I call out and he raises his hand in a half wave. The two pause and I can see Jim leaning down to talk to the other guy. Jim straightens up and puts his hand on the guy's back, ushering him along. Something about that gesture, about the guy is starting to nag at me. It's familiar-like maybe I've met this guy before.   
  
"Holy shit!" I exclaim as I realize who the little guy is. Sandburg. I cast a quick glance up to see if I can see any pigs flying out there. Nope. I can hear the guys' voices behind me growing louder as they come to see what the commotion is.   
  
As they crowd around, I can tell that they haven't figured out who's standing on my porch yet. Before I can say anything else, Sandburg steps forward and sticks out his hand.  
  
"Simon, how're you doing man?" he asks with a tentative smile on his face.   
  
I stare at his hair-even shorter than I remember, then at his clothes, then at his extended hand. I don't know what he's been up to, but this is not the Sandburg I remember. I'm not sure if I should be worried or happy for him. Shake his hand or grab him into a bear hug and never let go? I'm surprised at my own reaction, but until now, I hadn't realized how much I missed the kid. For all the trouble he got himself into and all the smart-ass comments he made, he was a good man. I wonder just what life held for him after he disappeared from Major Crimes and my life. I wonder now if I should have taken the time to track him down, see if he was all right. See if he needed any help. But he looks okay. He looks great in fact. But he doesn't look like Blair Sandburg. Whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, I guess we'll find out as the night goes on.   
  
My eyes skip over to Jim who's standing stiffly behind Blair. How in the world did these two meet back up? Is Sandburg the reason Jim has been floating on clouds the last few weeks? I'm going to have to rethink my whole opinion on destiny, sentinels and the cosmos if this is how life is going to continue. I groan inwardly. I'm getting too old for this.   
  
I glance back at Sandburg as his smile starts to slip even more and his hand starts to withdraw. I shake myself out of my fugue and grab onto his hand with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. "Geez Sandburg, what the hell happened to you?" I growl as I pump his hand.   
  
His smile spreads as he visibly relaxes and he jokes back, "Thought I'd try something new."  
  
Suddenly Brown and Rafe and Joel are crowding forward to get a look and I can hear several muted exclamations of amazement. Taber and Daniels hang back as they don't know Sandburg-transferred in after he left. I turn to them and make the introductions, each man stepping forward to shake Sandburg's hand.   
  
I step back and make room for Jim to come in. "Well gentleman, let's say we move this party into the dining room and Sandburg can fill us in on his adventures as we play," I say, giving Jim a questioning look as I lead the way to the back room.  
  
We settle into our seats and I deal the cards. Sandburg and Rafe are sitting this hand out. I think Rafe is in seventh heaven, having found someone with his fashion sense. Of course, I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that it's Sandburg-but who am I to question the passage of time? People change.   
  
"So, Blair, what've you been up to man?" Brown questions over his cards.   
  
"Yeah Blair, you had us worried up and leaving like that. Everything okay?" Joel asks with concern.  
  
Blair squirms in his chair and glances quickly at Ellison. I follow his look and Jim is looking pretty guilty. Jim catches my eye and mouths 'later'. I can do later. I'm a patient man. I turn my attention back to Blair as I hear him clear his throat. I've been waiting to hear this for over two years and I'm scared at finally hearing the truth.   
  
Blair begins his story, "Long story short, I realized being a cop wasn't for me. Don't get me wrong, being a cop is great. Helping people, putting slimeballs behind bars and all that. You guys are great. But once I was there, actually doing it-I knew it wasn't meant to be. It just wasn't who Blair Sandburg is-was."   
  
"And Blair Sandburg is Mr. GQ?" Brown snorts. "Never saw that one coming," he adds as he quickly raises his cards to shield himself from the duel glares coming from his captain and from Jim.   
  
"There's nothing wrong with looking nice," Blair defends. "I'm not in college anymore-I have a job where I have to make a good impression. I represent an entire corporation and if I don't impress, the company doesn't impress."  
  
I'm still recovering from the college remark when Joel asks, "So what's this corporation you're talking about?"  
  
Blair throws him a grateful smile and launches into a whole spiel about The Redwood Corporation and his position there. I have to admit it. I'm impressed. Cultural Attaché for a major corporation. That's some rebound. But somehow I have a feeling it's not as easy as that and that the cost was high.   
  
The guys seem to accept Sandburg's explanation and the night progresses smoothly. We hear all about Sandburg's lady-turns out the lady Joel spotted talking with Jim is actually Sandburg's girlfriend, and the two are pretty tight. I'm relieved to hear things turned out so well for Blair. But I'm still curious what happened between him and Ellison, and this is one bone this old dog is not going to drop. So I wait until the guys drift out, one by one, until finally I'm alone with Jim and Blair. Ellison and Sandburg. Sentinel and guide.   
  
We clean, making amiable chitchat and when we're done I grab three beers from the fridge and lead the way into the living room. I wait until their comfortable before I begin my interrogation.   
  
"What the hell is going on?" I growl, and immediately feel sorry. Blair reels as if slapped and Jim's face freezes.   
  
"Sorry," I apologize holding up my hands placatingly. "It's just that Sandburg here disappears from sight for almost three years, and now, out of the blue, here he is. I want to know just what happened three years ago."   
  
As Jim opens his mouth, I hold up my hand and say, "Don't even go there detective. It is my business. You made it my business when you trooped into my office with a cockamamie story about thin blue lines and mother's begging. You made it my business when you confided in me that you have super senses-that you're a sentinel, and told me you needed the kid there to help you with those senses. You made it my business when you swore me to secrecy and begged me to sign the kid on for the unending ride along pass.   
  
"When we talked about Sandburg's contributions to the department, how valuable he was to you, and we-you and me Jim, decided to offer a gold badge to the kid-you made it my business. So yeah, I think you owe me an explanation why as soon as the kid starts his new career as Mr. Police Officer, he's finding his own place, looking like a kicked puppy, finally disappearing into Never-Never Land."  
  
I stop my speech and draw in a long breath-I surprised myself with that one. Jim's posture has relaxed and I can tell he's thinking about what I said. I glance at Blair and he also looks deep in thought, but he has a worried frown on his face. It was bad-whatever happened, it was bad, and he doesn't want to tell me. Well tough luck kid, cuz I'm going to find out, one way or another.   
  
Surprisingly, it is Blair who speaks first. "I won't lie Simon, and say that I had it all planned out-that everything was fine. I was stupid; Jim was stupid. We let things build into something that had no business being. We were partners-we'll always be partners. But we weren't supposed to be cop partners. That was a mistake, and it cost us both dearly. We lost something important and were lucky enough to find it again three years later."   
  
As Blair stops talking, he looks over at Jim and smiles. I'm awed by the strength of the feelings between these two men who admittedly haven't seen in each other in years. Jim returns the smile and continues the tale.  
  
"I was an asshole Simon," he pauses and looks at me. "I'm sure you figured that one out. Blair told me once that I had fear-driven responses, and he was right. That was my biggest mistake. I let those responses-instincts, destroy us, little by little. I read his dissertation and instead of talking to him, I shut him out. I acted like I was okay with it after awhile, but then I turned my back on him again as soon as another sentinel entered my territory. I let him die. That was my fault Simon. I should have been there-protecting the guide. Protecting my friend." Jim stops talking and draws in a ragged breath.   
  
I glance at Blair and he is sitting quietly. I'm surprised he hasn't jumped in yet, but something tells me this new Blair knows when to let blame fall where it belongs. I turn back to Jim and wait. Finally, Jim continues.  
  
"After that, I denied him. I denied the sentinel-guide bond. I told him I wasn't ready to go there with him yet. What I didn't tell him was that I never intended on letting it get that far. I didn't believe I needed him then. I didn't think I needed him when I told him to move out. When I ignored him at the station, it was because I didn't need him. Or so I thought. Everything around me told me I was right. Blair was gone. My senses were stronger than ever. I felt like I was coming into my own. I was happy-I felt confident to form a new relationship with my father. I didn't need his acceptance-his approval to be happy. I thought, I didn't need Blair. But I forgot the most important lesson."  
  
I sit forward, intrigued. Jim is staring off into space and doesn't appear as though he is going to continue. I turn to Blair and raise my eyebrows. Blair pulls his legs up into his chair and crosses them. I can't bite back the smile that escapes at seeing something so 'Blair'. I sober as he rubs his hands over his face and picks up where Jim left off.   
  
"I'm happy for Jim. He's right. He needed to be independent. He needed to know he could do it and be as good-better, on his own. I don't begrudge him that. But my road wasn't as smooth. I felt betrayed. I could handle having the rest of the world turn against me. I couldn't handle being rejected by Jim. That's what it was. And he's right-it was a fear based response. We both knew-instinct I guess, that I wasn't supposed to be a cop. That was Jim's destiny. But there was no handbook to tell me what I was supposed to do. Instead of talking about it, we both ignored it until it was too big to ignore. Jim was barely talking to me by then.   
  
"He'd go off on calls alone-you'd send him out alone . . ." I'm stunned as clear blue eyes swing my way, and I feel my own guilt surge. "He'd go out and prove he didn't need me there. I wasn't sure how I fit in. Sure I had the badge, but when I doubt myself, I really doubt myself. You guys would plan poker games or go to Jags' games and I would wonder if those invitations included me. So I didn't go and no one ever asked why. It finally got to the point where I didn't know why I was there. I thought Jim needed me-he didn't. I never set out to be a cop-if I wasn't needed in the way I thought I was supposed to be needed, I didn't see the reason to stay."  
  
"So you quit," I say, quietly.  
  
"So I quit," he repeats. "I didn't leave. But no one came to ask where I was. So I set out to find a new path. I flipped burgers, can you believe it?" he asks, laughing sharply. "Finally, a really nice woman took a chance on a professed fraud and hired him. Fairy tale ending."  
  
I look at the man in front of me and don't know if I should congratulate him or cry for all he has lost. He's overcome so much. I know, some of us are destined to have crap thrown in our paths our entire lives. But for some reason, I wish that weren't so for the man in front of me. But we can't all have what we want. I just hope that the worst is over and he's allowed to have some happiness.   
  
I feel ashamed at myself-at the way I have treated this man for so long. I treated him like he was a nuisance. I never tried to hide that I felt he didn't belong at the PD. And when he finally earned that right, I let him down. I didn't do what a good captain should do. I threw him in and ignored him when he sank. Oh, I could kid myself and say I had the utmost confidence in him. But I know better. I knew this kid was as naïve as any other rookie. Riding along for three years, and waiting in the wings is not the same as being a full-fledged detective.   
  
I should have noticed that his partner had turned his back. I should have noticed that he was floundering. Why didn't I? I honestly don't know. Not that having the answer would help him now. Without me and without Jim, he fought his way back and survived. Like Jim, he finally came into his own. I just wish he hadn't had to do it alone.   
  
"Simon," I hear break into my thoughts.  
  
"Quit it," the voice says. I look up and Blair is staring at me.  
  
"What?" I stammer.  
  
"Quit feeling guilty man. I appreciate the sentiment, but it's not helping Jim or me. I won't say that what happened didn't suck, cuz it did. Royally. But it wasn't the first piece of bad luck I've had, and I'm sure it won't be the last. I just chalk it up to growing pains. It hurt, but once I got through it, I was taller, stronger, and more confident. So I guess it was worth it."  
  
I hear a guffaw from the couch.   
  
"Taller, chief?" Jim asks, laughing.  
  
I watch, stunned, as Blair sticks his tongue out at Jim. I don't understand how or why Blair even wants a part of Jim or me or anyone at Major Crimes. The whole situation makes me angry-damned angry at Jim but even more angry at my own role in this whole thing. As if sensing my thoughts, Blair says,  
  
"I think we could have got to where we are a whole lot easier. But we were stubborn. Both of us. So it happened this way. But Jim and I aren't meant to be separated permanently. We just needed our space. We were stifling each other. Getting in each other's way. We both have things we're meant to do. Perhaps some things together, but mostly on our own. We were never meant to be one being. We forgot that. I forgot that. It helped that I had friends helping me to forget. But it doesn't change the truth." Blair stops talking and looks at Jim.  
  
"Our final mistake-my final mistake, was thinking that on our own meant alone. It doesn't. I'm still his guide . . ."  
  
"Oh, dear lord," I mumble. I'd hoped this meant the end of all the sentinel mumbo-jumbo.  
  
Blair sniggers and repeats, "I'm still his guide. We still need each other. But we don't need to be in each other's faces to do that. That's not what it's about."  
  
I slump in my seat but my ears pick up and I ask, "So what is it about?" I think, maybe, I'm finally going to understand this whole sentinel thing.  
  
"Friendship." It's Jim who answers and he's grinning at Blair like an idiot. He is an idiot. They're both idiots. I'm ready for bed.   
  
"That's it. Both of you-out. I'm going to bed." I push my tall frame out of the chair and walk towards the door. I can hear the two of them behind me laughing and whispering. I pull open the door and wait.  
  
Blair walks up and stands in front of me, a silly look on his face. I know that look . . .. Suddenly I have an armful of Sandburg, but tonight I give in and hug him back.   
  
"Get out of here," I grumble as he steps away. He flips me a jaunty salute and walks onto the porch. Jim comes up and open his arms as if to give me a hug. I push him out and close the door.   
  
Idiots.  
  
  
END 


	3. Merging Worlds

Merging Worlds   
By: Victoria May  
  
The hum of the motor and the rush of wind through my hair drown out everything around me. The hot air licking at my neck feels so good as the drops of clinging water evaporate. A tingling sensation creeps over my scalp and I feel what I've always thought of as the equivalent of goosebumps under my hair. I'm running out of time, but I don't want the gentle massage to end. I want to relish in it for a while longer.   
  
Instead, I turn off the blowdryer and pick up my brush. The pulsing rhythm of the Evita soundtrack tumbles over me. The CD is on its last selection, Lament, and I hastily grab the stereo remote. Aiming blindly over my shoulder, I switch off the CD before the tears start. I can't help it. Argentina is my heritage. In some small way, I feel as though I'm sharing Eva Peron's pain when I listen to this memorial of her life. I'd always hoped that my life would come to mean even a fraction of what Eva's did. That somehow, what I do-who I am, has encouraged others to better themselves.   
  
I smile as I glance at the makeup spread before me. I'm sure that to some, I am a role model. I'd like to think that I'm an inspiration. I've been featured in 'Cascade Magazine'; profiled in 'Business Week'. From rags to riches, I know what it's like to struggle to make something of yourself. I've faced many deterrents and overcome each and every one. From racism to sexism, I feel as though I've seen it all. And not just from the perky, blue eyed Barbie lookalike who wanted my job-thought that she was what represented a cosmetic division best. 'Friends', trying to be supportive, congratulated me on my good fortune that I had stumbled across a company who must have been hiring for that coveted 'equal rights' position. Trying to meet status quo.   
  
But as mad as I was at the time, I had to forgive them. They weren't the only ones to assume that I hadn't earned my position, or that I'd slept my way to the top. How else could I have managed to burst through the glass ceiling so quickly and to their prying eyes, so easily? At times, I want to scream and rip my degrees off the wall and throw them at whoever it was that day to slide a look at me from the corner of their eye. 'I've earned this!' I want to shout at them. I've gotten over the urge to drag them to Marla's office to see my personnel file. To point out the years I spent in sales for the company, building a client base so dedicated, they've stuck with us through the threat of hostile takeover-more than once. When other investors pulled their support at the hint of trouble, some of my oldest clients bought the abandoned shares. They sit with me on Redwood's board now-influential men and women who have helped to develop the division into one of the most successful cosmetic companies worldwide.   
  
I finger the strands of black hair clutched in my grip as I slowly slide the brush down its length. I struggle to overcome the wave of self-doubt that often accompanies such reminiscences. 'You earned this,' I scold myself once again. Sometimes, even I find it hard to believe that my rapid climb to the VP spot in cosmetics had nothing to do with my looks or my heritage. I'm beautiful. I know it, others know it. I try not to dwell on it too much. I like to look nice, to receive attention from others-to be told I'm beautiful.   
  
I'm often told that I'm conceited. I'm not. I don't compare my beauty to any one else's. I don't need to. I've been told how beautiful I am all my life. I've had it ingrained in me since before I could walk. My mother, a former model, continued her career vicariously through me. Submitting my pictures first to baby magazines and clothing catalogues, then parading me in a long succession of child beauty pageants.   
  
I was taught that beauty mattered-that you were judged on how you looked, how you spoke, and how well you could sell your body. I was thrilled at first. I can remember posing in photo shoots with my mother-Mother's Day inserts and JC Penney catalogues. Then no one wanted my mother any longer; they wanted me. I developed early, bypassing training bras for large, 32D cups. By eleven I was taller than most fifteen-year-olds. I can remember being watched as I walked down the street with my mother, made up for a shoot or on the way to a pageant. I swayed my hips and stuck out my chest as my mother instructed, ignoring the leers and catcalls.   
  
I held myself still as foreign hands adjusted my breasts just so and ignored the lingering touch as it measured my inseam. I won trophy after trophy and continued modeling. I finally gave up the pageants-it was too much of a struggle for a Latina contestant to win against the American apple pie beauties. I continued to model, having no real alternative. My mother drew the line-model and help support the family, or find another home, another hand to feed me. I knew it was more than just the money. My mother wasn't ready to let go of the dream, as if somehow, my success could be attributed to her.   
  
At seventeen, I was looking forward to college. I'd taken all the exams, applied to different schools. I was trying to choose between a career in medicine and a career in business when my world fell apart. I'd been accepted into NYU, was clutching the acceptance letter in my hand, when my father told me. Mother was out, hadn't had the nerve to stay and be the bearer of bad news. The money was gone. All of it-every cent I'd made as a child model, every penny I'd earned was handed over to my mother as my guardian. Spent on new clothes, makeup, hotels, and photoshoots. None of it set aside to provide for my future.   
  
My father was on social security-hadn't been able to work. I never realized that the money we lived on, the money that made the house payment every month, that kept the lights on and food in the refrigerator had come from me. I was the sole breadwinner in the family. I blamed my mother at first. I couldn't believe that she could betray me, use me like that. It wasn't until years later that I came to peace with her, who she is. I still send her money every month. Between what I send, and my father's social security check, they manage to survive.   
  
I went to college. I continued to model-not by choice but by necessity. I was forced to take out loans to pay for the first semester. I found myself ineligible for grants due to the reported income the previous year. I applied for scholarships, but received only a pittance from that arena. I'd always felt that I was judged just another pretty face at the interviews. My grades were good, but there had been no time for clubs or extra curricular activities. Nothing that said I was special.   
  
I knew I was more than just a pretty face and I was bound and determined to prove it. At the end of my first year of college, I was on the honor role and had earned a Presidential Scholarship, paying half my tuition. I joined DECA. I found myself concentrating on the business aspect of modeling and applied for an internship with the modeling agency that held my contract.   
  
As a model, I'd often been approached by small, start up cosmetic companies, wanting someone to represent their company. I turned them down-well, except for one. Wildflower. An 'all natural' brand created by a shy, mouse of a girl in my marketing class. Made and bottled on her family's farm in Illinois, Wildflower proved to be a line worthy of representing. Fortunately so for Nancy, who dropped out of college her junior year. She said it was because it just wasn't 'her thing' as she put it. I suspected it had more to do with her wildly alternating bouts of depression and euphoria. I'm sure that neither she nor her family expected the cosmetic line to really go anywhere, just another product of a manic episode.   
  
But I liked the line of cosmetics. They didn't make me break out, and I had several people ask me what brand I was wearing the day I debuted the line. I used the product line to develop my own business skills and made it into my graduate project. I based my master's thesis on the starter up company. I hadn't invested in the company however, just developed and marketed it. It was a hit. It could have been big.   
  
It's as dead as Nancy is today.   
  
Working with Nancy was never easy. She questioned every decision I made, every step I took. She designed her own logo and attempted to force me to use it, threatening to fire me if I refused. I called her bluff and hired a student from advertising to develop the logo. 'Wildflower: Natural, fresh, beautiful'. I don't think Nancy ever forgave me for that, but I could never wrap my mind around 'Wildflower: Be Wild'. I almost laughed the day Nancy tossed that one at me-instantly my mind was filled with images of bright pinks and loud blues and oranges. I felt like I was back in the eighties.   
  
I planned on continuing to work with the rapidly expanding company after graduation. I accepted my master's degree, feeling more pride than I ever thought possible. I left to spend the summer with my family in Argentina, leaving the company to run itself. I was confident that nothing could go wrong. Well, Nancy can be more influential than I ever gave her credit for. In a bout of mania, Nancy decided to expand. She purchased a building to house the company and signed contracts with printers for labels and advertising. She found investors and spent the money on a new car and wardrobe.   
  
The company was bankrupt by the time I returned from Argentina. I was flabbergasted. The investors had filed lawsuits against the company. Nancy of course turned to me to bail her out. I told her in no uncertain terms that I couldn't help her and to get a good lawyer. I let Nancy's family know how I felt about them not intervening and stopping Nancy. But they'd been living with Nancy and her bipolar disorder her entire life-they truly believed this was just another flash in the pan for Nancy. They'd never realized how successful the company had become. I couldn't really fault them.   
  
Nancy committed suicide before she even came to trial. I blamed myself for not seeing how sick Nancy was. For not noticing how close to the breaking point she really was. Her family tried to assure me that Nancy had struggled with her bipolar her entire life, often succumbing to the pull of the mania. Nancy attempted to live a normal life, but didn't like the way the cocktail of medications she took every morning, noon and night made her feel. As an adult and in charge of her own medical care, she often skipped doses. Nancy, like many sufferers of bipolar disorder, finally came to an early death.   
  
I looked around for awhile, sending out my resume to as many companies as I could. When I walked into my interview at Redwood, I felt like I was coming home. Marla interviewed me first and then the president of the cosmetics division. I was hired and started out in sales, traveling the country marketing the company's cosmetic line. I moved quickly into the VP spot-I'd always felt as though I were on a fast track. Despite what others may think, I'd always attributed it to my former experiences, not my looks or ethnicity.   
  
Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I glance at the clock on the wall. 5:37PM. Damn, if I don't hurry I'm going to be late. With only a few sweeps of my brush, my hair is held on top of my head, only a few stray clumps surrounding my face. Picking up the small triangular sponge, I dab on thick, pasty goo that is supposed to cover up all my blemishes. I grimace at the finished result and reach for the bottle of makeup, shaking it and spilling it onto the sponge. It only takes seconds to smear that expertly over my face and finish it with a few strokes of powder. Much better, I think as I smile my sexiest smile into the mirror.   
  
I reach for the tiny compact housing my eyeshadows and growl when the doorbell rings. What now? If it's someone selling magazines I may just have to kill them. I do not have time for this. I stand and draw my white, silk robe tighter around my body. I stalk over to the door, wanting to fling it open and give whoever it is a piece of my mind. Instead, I do the sensible thing and peer down into the peephole.   
  
I can feel the tension drain from my body as I see who is standing outside my door, patiently waiting for me to open it. I open the door and smile tenderly at my visitor. I receive a goofy grin in reply as a bouquet of roses is drawn from behind my guest.   
  
"Blair, you shouldn't have," I say as I take the flowers and hold them to my nose. They smell divine and I close my eyes as I inhale their rich scent.   
  
"Yes, I did. I couldn't come by empty handed, now could I?" Blair asks.  
  
Before I can answer, I'm in Blair's arms receiving one of the sexiest kisses I've ever had the pleasure of enduring. The man can kiss and has no shame when it comes to showing off that particular skill. I have no problem with that as long as I'm the only one he shares it with.   
  
Pulling back, I grab his hand and draw him into the house. "What are you doing here?" I call out as I disappear around the corner into the kitchen.  
  
"Just thought I'd drop in and say 'hi'," Blair calls back.   
  
I return to the living room, the roses now in a crystal vase and place the arrangement on the fireplace mantel. "Oh, that's sweet," I say as I turn to face him. He's over by the TV, pretending to be looking at the accumulation of photos strewn all over the entertainment center.   
  
"Now, what are you really doing here?" I ask as I walk up to him and wrap my arms around his waist.   
  
"What, I can't just drop in?" Blair asks as he turns in my arms, leaning in for another kiss.  
  
"Mmn," I murmur into his mouth and sag forward for more. He tastes so good and his hand is roaming down my back to my derriere. He's turning me on and right now that is a bad thing-a very bad thing. I pull away and gently swat his arm. "Stop that," I scold.   
  
'What?' his innocent expression seems to say.  
  
"I thought you were going out tonight," I say as I take his arm and lead him into my bedroom. I watch as he shrugs and sits on the bed. He doesn't meet my eye as he runs his hand over the satin comforter. Finally he lays back and stretches his arms out.  
  
"A man could get used to this," he says as he kicks his shoes off and draws his legs up onto the bed.   
  
"As if you don't get enough time lazing around in that bed, you goof," I scoff at him. Turning away, I begin to apply my eye makeup. I almost forget that he is there, until I hear the radio switch on. The volume is still set on high from my CD and is quickly turned down. A chaotic rambling of passing stations grate at my ears until a classic rock station is selected. I'm about to coat my lips with gloss when suddenly Blair is behind me, his hands on my shoulders.   
  
I melt under the sudden onslaught. His hands expertly soothe away tension I didn't even know was there. Then his lips are on my neck and his hands are exploring over the silk robe, playfully arousing me.   
  
"Blair," I say as I lean forward. "I have to get ready. I can't be late for this." I turn to look at him and catch the disappointment in his eyes before he smiles at me.   
  
"I know, Shelli's party. Can't have the bachelorette party without the maid of honor."  
  
"You knew about this Blair. I thought it wasn't a problem," I say, starting to feel the slightest bit irritated.   
  
"It's not," he assures me before leaning down and placing a quick kiss on my cheek. "I just thought I'd come by and keep you company until you had to leave," he fibs.   
  
I glance at the time again. "Blair," I say, almost pleading. I don't want to have to walk out on him, not when something is obviously bothering him. But I only have fifteen minutes until I have to leave. I can not be late for this. Not this. Shelli would never forgive me.   
  
"Really," he says, trying to assure me, but only succeeding in making me even more suspicious.   
  
I stand and walk over to where he has slumped onto the bed. Leaning over, I run my hand over his chest and take his lips with a force only a woman in love can muster. "I wish you could come with me," I say, wanting to make him feel better.  
  
"Yeah, that'd go over really well," he laughs. Then his eyes light up. "I know-I can come along and be the entertainment. I've got the moves, don't you think?" he asks as he stands and begins to sway his hips to the music on the radio. His hands wander to his shirt and he begins to slowly unbutton it.  
  
I ignore his antics and go to my closet and pull out the dress I will be wearing that evening. It's short-only coming to mid-thigh. It's covered in silver sequins and shimmers as the light hits it. I pull it on and turn to ask Blair to attach the skimpy strings at the top to hold the halter top in place. He's stopped his strip tease and is standing there, his mouth hanging open slightly as he stares at me.   
  
"Blair?" I say, waving the lose strings in his face. "Will you?" I ask and turn as he takes the silver strands. I can feel his warm hands as they fumble to attach the strings to the hook at the back of the dress. I know he is finished when his hands slide down my bare shoulders, copping a feel.  
  
"Thanks," I say as I turn and press my body to his. His eyes are wide and he's panting slightly. I grin at him and steal a kiss. I'm breathless when I pull away. "Now, I only have five minutes before I have to leave. Why aren't you with Jim?" I pry before applying more gloss.   
  
I haven't met Jim yet, and now I'm starting to wonder why. Blair says that they were best friends-roommates. That they were as close as brothers-probably more so. I know that Blair says Jim is special-that he can see and hear better than anyone. That his sense of taste and touch and smell are off the charts. Great. So what? But I know that it's important. That if word got out it could hurt Jim badly. That some psycho has already tried to use Jim's abilities for his own dirty deeds.   
  
I know that he means something to Blair. That the 'bond' for lack of a better word, is important enough to Blair to look past all the hurt and all the pain he carried when I first met him. Blair calls himself Jim's 'guide'. It scared me when he first told me that. The whole concept of 'sentinels' and 'guides' seemed a bit dramatic to me. But Blair seemed so sincere that I found myself believing everything that he said. That he really was connected to this other man whom he had only known for four years. Four devastating, life shattering years.   
  
When I met Blair, he wasn't the man he is today. He was fragile-lost. He had nothing. He was alone. I first saw him at a board meeting. He was pleasant enough. Polite. And he was smart. When he was introduced as Redwood's new Cultural Attaché, I was impressed. His credentials were read off, BA and Master degrees from Rainier. World traveled. Published in countless magazines and journals. Just what this company needed to head off the allegations of cultural ignorance.   
  
Blair was a charmer. I knew that from day one. He had the VPs all eating out of his hands by the end of his first month. When someone had a hard sell, or was worried about the effects the company would have on surrounding lands or some far off culture, Blair was called in. He eased fears and made ingenious recommendations that made for win-win situations all around.   
  
He was taken with me. I knew it-it was pretty obvious after the second time I turned to find him at my side during the board meetings. But he never did anything to distract from the meeting or the business at hand. He never asked me out. I finally got tired of waiting for him and asked him out. I went as far as paying for dinner and the movie we saw. I was hooked when he didn't bat an eyelash at being the one treated on the date. I think he liked the fact that I was being so independent. I've since met Naomi and understand now why he wasn't fazed by me.   
  
At first, he hung back and I thought it was something I was doing, or not doing. I wasn't sure how he felt about me. I'd told him all about myself-the modeling, the pageants, Wildflower. I told him about my family, both here and in Argentina. But I didn't know much about Blair. Oh sure, I knew he was an anthropologist, but I didn't know what he studied. I didn't know what he did before coming to Redwood. I began to have that feeling women get, that small voice at the back of their minds warning them to get out when the going was good.   
  
I think Blair sensed that I was pulling away from him. I was shocked the day that he came to me and asked me to accompany him shopping. I thought he was going to try and buy my affections and lavish expensive gifts on me-based on whatever caught my eye as we shopped. But instead, he asked me to help him improve his 'image', his style.   
  
Blair is gorgeous. I couldn't fathom why he would want to change. But I helped him pick out the classiest suits we could find, with a cut to compliment a more petite man. We went for casual wear as well and when we finished, he looked like he had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. I was so absorbed in what we were doing, that I suggested we go all the way and have his hair done. I'd seen a style that would have looked lovely on him, with those curls and soulful eyes. I didn't think anything of the moment of hesitation when he fingered his hair before grinning and agreeing.   
  
When the stylist pulled the cape off and Blair stood up, I almost melted. I was right. The cut complimented every positive feature Blair had. I couldn't help myself-I grabbed him and kissed him with everything I had. The kiss was returned, but when I pulled away, I couldn't help but notice the rapid blinking. I thought he was going to cry but then he pulled away and handed the stylist his credit card. I stood behind him, my arm on his back and gently rubbed.   
  
We left the salon, neither of us speaking. I noticed that as we passed storefronts, Blair would seem to pause, just a second, and look at his reflection. I started to tease him, until I caught the look on his face. It wasn't that of a man pleased and gloating, but one of genuine surprise. Like he didn't know how beautiful he was. That was the day I started to tell him how beautiful, how gorgeous, how sexy he is. I think, maybe, he finally believes it.   
  
I decided that there was much more to this man than I knew and I wasn't done with him yet. He was an enigma. So strong and confident at Redwood, yet so tentative and unsure once he stepped foot out those doors. But I wasn't the only one who something worth waiting for in Blair. I knew Marla saw it-I think the woman seeks out kindred spirits and saw something special in Blair. I swear that she's made him her pet project-signing him up to teach at the Salvation Army and stealing him away for lunch-checking up on him. As for Arthur, I hadn't even known him until Blair showed up for an after work drink with him in tow. I would have said that Arthur is his best friend-would have until Jim reappeared.  
  
But slowly Blair began to open up and relax and those of us who cared got to see a wonderful, warm, witty person. I was shocked when one day out of the blue, Blair began to tell me about his life, pre-Redwood. About traveling with his mom, about starting college at sixteen. About his pursuit of sentinels. About his expeditions to South America. And he told me about Jim; about his perpetual observer status at the Cascade PD. I was shocked and ready to spit nails when he told me about some of the cases he'd been involved in. How close he'd come to dying so many times-how he'd died at the hands of that psycho Barnes woman. And I cried when he told me about his mother sending his dissertation to a publisher, only to have everything he'd ever wanted flaunted in front of his face, his to keep at the cost of his friendship and his friend's safety. I wasn't surprised when he told me about the press conference or that he'd been willing to go so far as to label himself a fraud if it meant protecting someone he loved so dearly.  
  
When he told me about being offered a badge, a place at Jim's side as a detective, I felt so much pride. Then he told me about being treated as an outsider, being left behind. How Jim didn't seem to need him anymore. How he'd given up his life for this man only to abandoned by those who swore to keep him safe.   
  
How he can look back and say they were his friends, I still don't understand. I'm glad that I haven't met this Jim yet, or any of the men he talked about after coming home from a poker game he'd crashed with Jim. Blair says he doesn't need them anymore. But he does. He still hides his feelings so well, but I can see the hurt on his face when he talks about what Jim and 'the guys' are working on at the PD. Cases that he himself should be a part of. Showing off that incredible intellect. Had he been allowed to let them see. If they had looked.   
  
Not that I begrudge him his work at Redwood. It is, after all, what brought us together. I just want to believe that he is happy. And I guess if that means Jim becomes a fixture in our lives, I can live with that. I say 'our' lives, because I am hoping that the next wedding I stand up in is my own.   
  
"Blair?" I prompt as I smooth the gloss over my lips. I'm still waiting to find out why he isn't out with Jim.  
  
Blair was sitting on the bed again, playing with a loose piece of string. "Jim got a break in a case he was working on and had to go in to the station. No biggie. We'll go out another time." He shrugged, feigning nonchalance.   
  
"Oh sweetie," I sigh as I sit beside him. "It's hard isn't it-not being there with him. Hearing about the cases he's working on, but not being able to help. I'm sorry," I offer leaning into him, offering him my support, my love.  
  
I hear a small chuckle and glance over at him. "What?" I ask, perplexed.  
  
"Sweetie-you have to find something else to say. I do not want to be thinking about my mom when we're together-especially when we're making love."  
  
I frown, struggling to figure out how Naomi figures into any of this. Then it hits me and I giggle. "Sweetie! Oh Blair, I didn't think. I'll think of something else," I promise.  
  
Blair chuckles again, and I can feel him leaning against me, his head lowered for a second onto my shoulder. Then it's gone and he's standing, holding out his hand.   
  
"Come on. I'll walk you to your car." He helps me into my coat and holds the door for me like the gentleman that he is. We near my car and he takes my keys, opening that door as well.   
  
"I love you," he says, and I know he means it. I wish I could just pretend to be sick. Stay here with him and love him all night. But it's not my night, and it's not Blair's. If we don't want to be recluses the rest of our lives, we have to put our friends first on occasion.   
  
"Blair, why don't you go and see if Arthur is home. If he's not, Ken said he was going to be around this weekend, working on the Tafferty account. You know he only tells us that he's working at home so that someone will take pity on him and disturb him. Go and drag him out for dinner. I'm sure he'd appreciate the disruption," I coax. I slide into the seat and pull the door closed. I roll the window down and Blair leans over, resting his elbows on the edge.   
  
"You're just trying to get rid of me," he says, smiling.  
  
"You got it buster. I have to go or I'm going to be late." Blair smiles and leans in and kisses me. I love him so much. "Are you okay?" I ask as I bring my hand to his face and gently brush his cheek.  
  
"I'm good. Just disappointed. You're right. I'll go and see what Arthur's up to. I think he's jealous," Blair adds with a sad smile.  
  
Oh Blair. You just can't win, can you? Instead of voicing my thoughts, I shrug. "He's a big boy. I'm sure he's fine. Just don't forget . . ." I stop, shocked at what I was about to say. To even imply that Jim isn't really Blair's friend. But I have to wonder. Blair always tells me about his forays back into his old life-Jim's life. But Jim hasn't found his way into Blair's. Blair is content to think that this is the way it should be. That someday, Jim will need Blair and Blair will just go running. But what about when Blair needs Jim? When Blair explained it, he stressed that it came down to friendship. Last I heard, friendship wasn't a one way street.  
  
Blair surprises me with one last kiss before pulling his head from the car and slowly standing. "I know who my friends are. I won't forget," he says, an earnest look on his face. And I believe him. He knows that the people you hold near to your heart are too precious to take for granted. I think he just got a little excited when his worlds began to merge. He'll figure it out.   
  
I start the engine and watch through my review mirror as he climbs into his car. He catches my eye and gives a little wave and a cocky grin and I know he'll be okay. Looking out my side mirror and then the window, I turn on my blinker and slowly pull onto the street. He'll be okay.  
  
END 


	4. Amalgamation

Disclaimer: The Sentinel and all Sentinel characters belong to Petfly Productions. No money is being made by this fic which was written purely for entertainment purposes only.   
  
TITLE  
By: Victoria May  
  
"Sweet!" I exclaim as I pull into the long driveway leading up to the Lighthouse Condominiums. The condos stretch out along the beach, white and unblemished. A miniature lighthouse marks the edge of the housing development and would have looked tacky if it didn't look so darn real. Immaculate landscaping carpets the sloping grounds, ending at the flat strip of blacktop leading to each of the individual garages tucked neatly beneath the condos themselves.  
  
Squinting to make out the small numbers beside each door, I finally come to 12337 and pull into the nearest available guest spot.   
  
"Our little Hairboy's all grownup," I say as I climb out of my small '95 Miata and slowly stretch to get rid of the kinks in my back.  
  
"It's a beauty all right," Rafe agrees.   
  
I glance at him and I swear he's almost drooling as he stares at the new condominiums. He looks so entranced I almost feel bad for him-it would take him years to save up the money to get into this place on our salary. And the way he blows what he makes on his expensive suits, well, it just ain't happenin'. Can we say obsessive-compulsive? I mean, I've dated women who spent every last spare dime on jewelry and fancy clothes, but I've never met a man who cared so much what he put on his back. It's just not natural. Not that I would tell him that. He doesn't see anything wrong with his obsession and I'm not gonna be the one to burst his bubble.   
  
"How'd you like to live here?" I throw at him as I close and lock the car door and start up the walk. It's cruel, I know, but I can't help myself. I feel a pang of regret when I hear him sigh wistfully behind me.  
  
"Maybe they've got a position for me at Redwood," I hear him murmur as we near the stain-glass door. "When I make Captain . . ." he begins.  
  
"When you make Captain, this place'll be so worn down I'll be able to afford it," I retort as I raise my hand and push the glowing doorbell.  
  
"Way to be encouraging partner," Rafe rebukes me as he shoves his lapels back and sinks his pale hands into his trouser pockets. 'Strike a pose' resounds through my head in Madonna's sultry voice. Oh, I don't think he's aware that he's doing it, but the boy is as laid back as a GQ model. When he first showed up in Major Crimes, I thought it was nerves. Was I ever wrong. As his confidence grew, so did the wardrobe, the hair, and the smile.   
  
The inner door opens with a soft whoosh and I can see the distorted image of Sandburg behind the textured blues, reds, and greens of the stained glass. I pull open the outer door and smile my greetings to our enthusiastic host.  
  
"H, Rafe, come on in-welcome to Casa de Sandburg," he ushers.   
  
"Nice place Sandburg," Rafe compliments behind me.  
  
"Yeah, real nice," I agree, slapping our lively host on the back. "So, do we get the nickel tour now or later?" I ask, straining to see up one set of stairs and down another.  
  
Blair takes our coats and they disappear into the entryway closet. "No time like the present," he says and jogs up the half flight of faux stone stairs-or maybe it's real stone for all I know. I shrug at Rafe and follow, wondering if maybe we should have removed our shoes at the door. But Blair is wearing his, so I doubt he's too worried about us tracking dirt through the condo.  
  
The stairs open into a small foyer. Blair disappears around the corner and I follow, my breath catching as I step into the living room. This is not the Blair Sandburg I know. The place is immaculate. The stone floor continues in this room, leading up to a large stone mantel and fireplace that takes up nearly one whole wall. The furniture is white leather, the tables glass. A large print is centered on another wall-red, yellow and blue squares placed haphazardly on the canvas. Modern art. What really catches my eye is the large fur rug spread out over the stone floor in front of the fireplace.  
  
Sandburg catches my eye and grins. "Fake," he reassures me, as if he could read my thoughts. "Actually, I rent the place furnished-it's not really my style, but it beats having to buy everything new," he says, shrugging as he slips through another doorway, leading us into a bright and open kitchen.  
  
The kitchen opens into an eating area and the entire back wall is made of glass, overlooking the water. A patio stretches out and stairs disappear down, out of sight. But that isn't what's caught my attention. The most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on is standing in Sandburg's kitchen putting something in the oven.   
  
She turns as we enter the room and graces us with the most mouth watering, luscious smile. I smile back and reach out to grab something, anything to keep me from swooning like a fool. I end up grabbing Rafe and he brushes my groping hand away from his arm.  
  
"Hi!" Rafe says, pushing past me, his hand outreached. "Angeline, right?"  
  
Her smile grows wider and now Rafe is grinning like a lunatic. "Yes, that's right. And you are?" she prompts, taking his hand.  
  
"Oh! Sorry," Rafe laughs and blushes. An honest to goodness blush. I roll my eyes and step forward, my own hand extended.  
  
"Hi Angeline. I'm Henri Brown. You can call me H. This here is my partner Rafe. Excuse his manners." My heart pitter-patters in my chest as she laughs and grasps my hand. I'm in heaven. I almost growl as Sandburg slips his arm around the goddess' waist and she turns her head, brushing those full, ripe lips against his.   
  
She turns to face us again and I almost shiver from the intensity in her gaze. For a second, I feel like a bug under a microscope and find myself hoping I pass her inspection.   
  
"It's a pleasure to meet you both," she finally says, breaking the spell.   
  
"Will you be staying?" Rafe asks from behind me. Thank you! I wasn't going to be the one to ask, but I sure am hoping.  
  
"Oh no. It's boys' night. I'm only here to help Blair get things ready."  
  
Sandburg must have caught my fallen expression, or Rafe's, as he casually steers Angeline towards the stove and ushers us back into the foyer.   
  
"On with the tour," he says, throwing a lingering glance back over his shoulder at Angeline. I catch sight of her smothering her laughter before I'm pulled down the hallway. The bathroom is pointed out, a guestroom, and finally Sandburg's bedroom.  
  
This room is huge. Like the kitchen, one wall is virtually all windows. There are no drapes and I wonder how Sandburg can stand sleeping so exposed. Although, it would be a bit of a turn on-especially if he was getting busy with Angeline. A king-size bed sits in the middle of the room. The bed is so tall, a small step sits next to it. Metal posts reach upwards from the corners, and the top is enclosed with a frame. Kinky.  
  
There's a chair in the corner; a few discarded pieces of clothes are tossed over the back and arms. A long dresser sits opposite the bed and one of the drawers is sitting open. I glance over and catch sight of the turbulent contents, threatening to fall out and onto the floor. Sandburg hastily pushes the escaping boxer shorts back into the drawer and pushes it closed.   
  
Now this is the Sandburg I remember. I snigger and Sandburg laughs. "Hey, I never said I was neat!" he exclaims, kicking more stray bits of clothes into the closet and closing the door.  
  
"This is some view," Rafe says from the window. Blair and I walk over and join him, all of our gazes trailing down the bluff and to the water.  
  
"You don't happen to have a boat, do you?" I ask, catching sight of the docked boats, bobbing on the water. I haven't gone sailing in years-not since my Uncle Terrell passed away and Donny sold the old fishing boat.  
  
"Right. I bought it with my trust fund."  
  
His voice is a bit sharp and I glance over at him, startled out of my memories. He's facing away, but I can tell he's frowning and I wonder what I said wrong.  
  
"Hey Hair . . .Blair, I didn't mean anything, you know?" I say, as apologetically as I can, not knowing what taboo I blundered over.  
  
"No, I know," he says, turning away from the window. He shoots us a strained smile and gestures towards the door. Rafe and I share uneasy glances and follow him as he walks out and back down the hall. I know I said something wrong, but what? All I asked is if he had a boat down there. I haven't been sailing in years; I'd love to get back on the water.  
  
Sandburg pokes his head into the kitchen and I can hear him telling Angeline we're going downstairs. There's a muffled conversation and he finally pops back out, nodding towards the stairs. Rafe heads down first and I follow, Blair trailing along behind. I let Rafe get ahead of us and stop at the front door. I'm really worried I said something to piss Blair off and I want to fix it before we get downstairs.  
  
I reach out and touch his arm. "Hey Sandburg, I'm really sorry if I said something that offended you," I say. "I didn't mean anything by that crack about a boat. I was serious, you know? I love boating. Maybe it you get in tight with one of the neighbors who do have a boat-maybe some hot little number in a bikini-you can call me and we'll all go out together. Okay?" I ask, looking for a bit of reassurance.  
  
I'm relieved when Sandburg laughs and hits me on the arm. "And Jim accused me of humping a table leg," he says, shaking his head. "I'm not offended man. But I am a little worried," he says.  
  
I frown at him, puzzled. "Why?"  
  
"You really need to get out more," he says, laughing again. "And quit drooling over my girlfriend," he adds, steering me down the next set of stairs.  
  
"You know it man," I agree. "Maybe Angeline can set me up?" I ask, hoping.  
  
"Maybe. I'll ask, okay?"  
  
I grin and keep walking. The downstairs is as impressive as the upstairs was. The stone floor continues and opens onto a large 'family' room. A large entertainment center sits on the far wall with a gigantic TV and surround sound system. A long black couch stretches out, directly in front of the TV with two smaller couches to each side. A low, round table in the center is already covered in snacks for the game. The side wall is literally covered in strange, native wall hangings like masks and rugs and there's even a spear or two.  
  
I turn and see that the wall behind us, next to the door, holds a long bar. Rafe's back there already, next to Joel, digging around in an icebox.  
  
"Hey Joel, my man, I didn't know you were here," I say, drifting over.  
  
"Got here early to help set up," he says, lifting a glass to his lips.  
  
"You tending?" I ask.  
  
"Sure. What's your pleasure?" he asks, setting his glass down.  
  
"I'll take whatever you're having," I answer, eyeing the bright blue concoction in his glass.  
  
He grins and begins mixing ingredients in a large tumbler. I walk over and lean against the bar just in time to see a fair amount of pineapple juice followed by vodka poured into the metal container. I missed whatever it was he used to get the blue color, but I shudder and figure I probably don't want to know anyway. He pours my finished drink and slides it across the bar towards me. I sip my blue drink and grimace.   
  
"Cheers," he says, raising his glass and chuckling. I roll my eyes sip my sour drink slowly.   
  
The doorbell chimes and I can hear the suction of the front door opening above us. I wonder briefly if Jim has arrived, but know it's not him when Angeline appears in the doorway followed by two guys I don't recognize. One guy's short and slightly round, wearing rumpled khakis and a yellow polo shirt. The other guy sticks his head around the corner and throws a smile our way before ducking back out again. He's tall, with short, dark hair and green eyes. Dressed in pressed blue jeans and a J. Crew sweater. These guys aren't what I'd expect when I think 'Blair's friends'.   
  
I'm instantly disgusted at myself for the thought. The stranger is dressed no differently than Rafe, or even Ellison at times. But I guess I've always seen Blair as a hanger-on, not really fitting into Major Crimes but accepted because he was always there. I'd never met any of his friends from his university days, but I pictured them to be grunge-clad political zealots, like he looked when he first started hanging around Ellison.  
  
Sure he'd lost the torn jeans and Goodwill sweaters and started showing up in Chinos and button downs, but I always figured it was because he'd wised up and figured out what was good for him, hanging around at the station so much. Its not like Sandburg is stupid and he has eyes and ears. I'm sure he noticed the looks he'd drawn and the smothered laughter at some of his more outrageous outfits. What was acceptable for a college student didn't fly around a bunch of testosterone laden cops with attitudes. And when he was constantly being pegged as a vice cop, well, even he knew the significance of that.  
  
I guess I never really saw Sandburg as being one of us-even when he'd crossed that line and claimed his own shield. Never thought of him as being more than just 'Ellison's partner'. I'm ashamed to realize that I never really considered him a friend. Never got to know him. Hell, I still don't know him.   
  
I never stopped seeing him as some punk college kid who started tagging along at Ellison's heels. I never considered that away from us, he was practically a doctor, in all but title. A teacher at a prestigious university. A genius really. I never stopped to credit him for his contributions to our cases or his insights that only someone world traveled and highly educated would have.   
  
He was just Sandburg. Even after the shield. I don't think any of us ever let him escape from Ellison's shadow. I'd put money on it that no one saw him as one of us-as a detective with the same contributions to make as the next person. And I'm as guilty as anyone for keeping Blair in a box of our own making-our own preconceived notions.   
  
So I shouldn't be surprised really that Blair is living in this condo, with a supermodel-gorgeous woman hanging on his arm, and preppy friends. Who am I to say what's normal for Sandburg-I never knew to begin with.  
  
Before I can pull my attention away from the trio in the doorway, Angeline glances into the family room and then pauses, calling out, "Blair?"  
  
A muffled "In here!" answers her and Angeline disappears down the hallway in the opposite direction, the strange guys following. I tip my head slightly, straining to hear what's going on down the hall, curious as to whom the two guys are. When Jim relayed the invitation to catch the game over here, he never said anything about Blair inviting anyone else.   
  
And just where is Ellison anyway? I'd have figured he'd be the first one here. He'd happily extended the invitation, but now that I think about it, he didn't talk about it afterwards. He'd just smile a little and bury his nose in work until whoever it was talking about the game went away. Looking back, his smiles had seemed to be little more than pretty grimaces.   
  
Well damn! Ellison was scared about the whole thing all along! Why didn't I see it? Well, duh, you dumb-ass . . .like you saw Ellison and Sandburg's partnership crumble before Blair had disappeared from the bullpen and our lives for good? Brown, it is time to pull your nose out of your ass and start paying attention. Sandburg doesn't deserve to go through that shit again.   
  
Joel and Rafe grab their drinks and drift towards the couches. Rafe grabs my arm as he passes. I wave him off and pull out my cell phone.  
  
"I'm going to call Ellison and see what's holding him up," I say, turning back to the bar and perching on a barstool. Remembering that Jim had to work this morning, I dial the office and wait while his phone rings.   
  
Finally, the ringing stops and the man's brisk voice barks, "Major Crimes, Ellison speaking," into my ear.  
  
"Jimbo! What's the hold up man?" I ask, cutting to the point.  
  
"I've got a ton of paperwork built up here, H. It's going to take me a while to clear this up," he says. He sounds funny and I wonder if he's mumbling on purpose.  
  
"Listen Jim. That stuff can wait, this can't. This has been planned for weeks and Sandburg's expecting you. Everyone else is here already." Well it's true. Captain Banks is out of town visiting his sister, so he's the exception today.  
  
"Okay, okay. I'll just finish this up and I'll get out of here. I'll only be a little late, but I'll get there," he says, sounding like he's trying to end the call.   
  
Hell no, am I going to let him get away with this. I don't care if he is scared; he's going to be here if I have to go and drag his sorry ass here myself.  
  
"Ellison!" I bark. "Untuck that tail and get your ass over here!"  
  
"What are you talking about H.?" he asks, wearily.  
  
"Look man, I don't know what your problem is, but right now, I don't care. The game is starting in twenty minutes and you'd better be here. That means you get your ass up, off that chair, and get over here-no stops for anything. Got it?"  
  
There's a long pause before he finally answers, quietly, "Got it."  
  
"Great, I'll see you in twenty." As an afterthought, I add, "He needs you here man."  
  
"I know, I'll be there."  
  
Satisfied, I break the connection and tuck my phone back in my pocket. I grab my drink and slip off the stool and join the others around the TV. As I sit down, Joel turns to me.  
  
"Is he coming?" he asks. Joel always was the astute one. It doesn't surprise me that he's as aware of Ellison's stall tactics as I am.  
  
"He says," I answer, shrugging. Just then, the other two guys appear in the doorway. There's no sign of Sandburg or Angeline, and I smile, making a guess at what they're up to. The little guy pauses at the door, but the tall one steps forward, his hand outstretched.  
  
"Arthur Tennison, pleased to make your acquaintance," he says, shaking first Joel's hand, then Rafe's and finally my own. I wait until Joel and Rafe finish before introducing myself.  
  
"Henri Brown. You can call me H., everyone else does," I offer. "Rafe, Joel and myself used to work with Blair at Major Crimes. You work with him at Redwood?" I ask.  
  
He nods and gestures towards the short guy. "This is Ken Barby; he also works at Redwood," Ken offers.   
  
My eyes widen and I fight to contain my laughter. Ken's face is flaming red and he offers a nervous smile.  
  
"My parents had a sick sense of humor," he says.   
  
I do laugh at that and jerk my head towards a bunch of framed photos Blair has scattered around the bar. "Don't feel bad," I say, grinning. "Do you know what Blair's middle name is?"  
  
Ken looks puzzled and shakes his head. I get up and lead him over to the photos, pointing out one of Sandburg as a little kid. It's a cute picture-the kid's all curls and dimples. He's probably about five in that picture and unless you know him, it's real hard to tell if it's a boy or a girl.   
  
"Blair Jodi," I say, laughing at the growing glee on Ken's face.   
  
"No way!" Rafe says, behind me before pushing past to see the photo. "He told you that?"  
  
I snigger. "Of course not. He doesn't even know I know. I stopped over to pick up Ellison for a stake out once and Naomi was there. She was only too happy to show off pictures of her baby."  
  
"Did she want a little girl or something?" Rafe asks, studying the picture.  
  
"Nope. She just believed in naming the baby as soon as she knew she was pregnant. She said unborn babies are people too and should have names, so she picked one that could go to a boy or a girl."  
  
"I'm sure Blair loved that," Joel said, his voice booming out from behind us.  
  
"Blair's just fine with it, thank you." We all turn and try to hide our laughter as Blair enters the room. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up Boomer . . .Marion," he says, glaring at Rafe and me.  
  
"Marion?" I mouth at Rafe. Hell, I've been his partner for five years and never knew his first name.  
  
"What of it, Boomer?" Rafe shoots back.  
  
"Well, at least it's just my middle name. Lots of people have stupid middle names," I say.  
  
Blair just rolls his eyes. "I'm going to walk Angeline out. Behave please and no more digging up all my dirty little secrets," he says, laughing. "Oh," he turns back. "Remind me to have a talk with my mom the next time she's in town."  
  
We all laugh as the pair disappear around the corner. The four of us break from our huddle around the bar and rejoin Joel on the couches.  
  
Arthur grabs a handful of chips and settles back to munch. "So, tell us what Blair was like before he joined our merry little crew."  
  
"Um." Rafe and I exchange uncomfortable glances. I know I'm still uncomfortable talking about before-before Blair threw his career out the window to protect Ellison. Before Blair joined our ranks. Before he disappeared into the nether and no one questioned where he'd gone. Before I discovered my role in the turn his life had taken.  
  
"Neo-hippy witch doctor punk," a voice answers from the doorway. "At least that was my first impression of him when we met. All that hair and earrings, and he had on this wild vest-every color of the rainbow in that thing. Weird jungle music blasting in the background."  
  
Another voice laughs and says, "Yeah, and this caveman here threw me up against the wall and threatened to bust me for drug possession."  
  
"You have to admit, you were pretty out there Chief."  
  
Blair just laughs and says, "This is Jim Ellison, my old partner on the force. Jim, this is Ken and Arthur, we work together at Redwood."  
  
Jim steps forward and shakes their hands before turning back to Blair. "Sorry I'm late. I had some things to clear up," he says softly, blushing a little. "Can I help with anything?" he offers.  
  
"Yeah, there's some food upstairs you can help me bring down, and I can give you the grand tour at the same time," Blair answers. From the curious look Blair is giving Jim, I won't be expecting them back anytime too soon-they've got a lot to talk about.  
  
Left alone again, I turn to Arthur and Ken and say, "You know, you guys really need to watch out. Hairboy's a real trouble magnet."  
  
"Hairboy?"  
  
And we're off. Now that the ice has been broken, I think we'll all get along just fine. Of course we're using our one common denominator to bring us together, but so what. Blair won't mind. 


	5. Inheritance

Inheritance  
  
By: Victoria May  
  
The sky is clear outside my window. Brilliant blue stretches as far as my eyes can see and I sigh, snuggling deeper into my padded seat. It's been a long day and soon my eyes drift closed. I don't doze long though before the airplane shudders around me. I clench my hand on the armrest and push myself as far into my seat as I can.   
  
'I am calm, I am calm,' I chant silently. It's only a little turbulence. Nothing I haven't experienced before. But this time I can feel the vibrations deep in my bones and clench my teeth tightly. The overhead bin rattles and for a second I envision it opening, raining down travel bags onto Jared's head. The image makes me smile, just a little, and Jared looks at me with his eyebrow raised questioningly. I giggle and shrug, turning back to the window.   
  
The clear skies have gone and now the sky is a misty white. We pass through a thick patch of clouds and the plane shudders again, much harder this time. I fumble for Jared's hand and grab it tightly. He rubs it gently with his free hand but it has little affect on my panic. It's just a little turbulence, I tell myself again.  
  
I draw in a deep breath and realize that my heart is pounding furiously. I draw in another breath, then another. I fight to even out my breathing and slow my racing heart. I haven't had a panic attack in years. 'Why now?' I beseech the highest power willing to listen to my plea.   
  
Tugging my hand from Jared's grasp, I fumble for my small makeup case. I finally wrap numb fingers around it and release my seatbelt. Jared grabs my arm as I lurch from my seat and tries to tug me back down.   
  
"I have to go," I gasp, struggling weakly to free my arm.  
  
"The light's on," he says, pointing upward. Sure enough, the small red seatbelt sign is lit. I don't care. I need to get out of this seat now before I start screaming.   
  
"I have to use the ladies room," I insist.  
  
An attendant sitting in the front row looks back over her shoulder and frowns before unclasping her own belt. I glare at Jared as the small woman approaches.   
  
"I'm sorry ma'am, you have to remain seated until the seatbelt light goes off," she explains in gentle voice.   
  
I shake my head. "I have to use the ladies room. It can't wait," I insist. At her hesitant look I add, "I'll only be just a minute. I really do need to use it. Please," I whisper.  
  
The attendant finally nods and moves aside to let me into the isle. "Thank you," I murmur before rushing into the cramped bathroom.  
  
I've been in outhouses that were larger than this, but I'm not complaining. I turn the water on cold and splash some on my face. Leaning against the small sink, I draw in a deep breath and hold it, releasing it slowly through my mouth. The plane lurches and I barely catch myself as I start to fall wildly to the side. At least I can't fall far in such tight quarters.   
  
The attendant is probably watching to make sure I come out quickly, so I set my makeup case on the edge of the sink and unzip it. I push my fingers through the makeup, cursing quietly as mascara and an eyeliner fall out and tumble to the rear of the toilet. My fingers find what they were questing for and I withdraw a small round pill case. Silver plated with my initials engraved into the top, it was a gift from a 'friend' from many years ago.   
  
The top snaps open and I take out a tiny white pill. I close the case so no pills escape and turn on the water, catching some in my cupped hand. I swallow the pill and sigh, before pressing my wet hand to my brow. Straightening, I wipe my hands on a paper towel and bend to retrieve my makeup from the floor. Stuffing everything back into the makeup case, I turn and open the door.   
  
Jared turns in his seat as though he sensed my approach. "Are you alright? Should I have the stewardess get you something?" he asks as he guides me past his legs and into my seat.   
  
I smile at him and shake my head. "No, I'm fine now. Really." I lean back into my large seat and close my eyes. "I'm just going to rest for awhile. Wake me when we're over Cascade," I murmur, the Valium already pulling me into a deep sleep.  
  
My dreams are erratic. They always are when drug induced. I dream of Blair, flying through the air on a toilet, a cape billowing out behind him. He's so young and I smile at him and wave. He laughs and waves back. But when he raises his arm, the cape slips free from his neck and as if caught on a large gust of wind, it blows off and disappears into the clouds. I follow it with my eyes, and when I turn back, Blair is crying and clutching at the toilet tank, his eyes clenched tightly shut. And he's no longer flying. He's falling. He's falling and crying and I reach out and grasp nothing but air.   
  
I gasp and sit up in my seat. My heart is pounding again but quickly evens out due to the Valium. Something is pressing against my face, pressing into my eyes, and I push it away.   
  
"It's okay, everything's okay," I hear finally. I blink and turn and Jared's there, a wet tissue clenched in his hand. "You're alright," he says and I press my face against his shoulder. My muscles finally relax and I pull away.  
  
"I'm okay," I say, nodding as if to reassure not only Jared, but myself as well.  
  
"You want to talk about it?" he offers. I can tell he's sincere from the way he's looking at me, peering into my eyes, searching my soul.   
  
I smile weakly and shake my head. "Just a silly dream," I answer.  
  
"You have a lot of silly dreams lately," he replies, turning his head quickly away from me. I know he wants me to tell him what I dream, but they really are just silly little dreams. They don't mean anything. It's just all the excitement of going to see Blair. I haven't seen him in almost a year. I've been traveling, and he's been busy too. But it's Blair's thirtieth birthday and he invited me to come celebrate.  
  
I don't know how I'm going to tell him about Jared. Will he be happy for me? Will he be angry? Will he like Jared? Will Jared like Blair? It's not often Blair and I are together, so I know I have to tell him now. He would be so hurt if I told him over the phone or through a letter. Not that I haven't considered those options. But I've caused him so much hurt recently. I can't be the cause of any more. But I'm afraid that my news will hurt, no matter how gently I tell him.   
  
After all, hadn't I always told him to detach with love? Hadn't I left behind a trail of boyfriends and friends who I feared getting too attached to? My head is beginning to ache as I remember the tears hastily brushed away by small, dirt smudged hands, as Blair too struggled to detach with love. Some of those men had loved Blair like their very own and I can remember Blair kissing and hugging and calling them daddy. Until one day he didn't.   
  
I don't know what prompted the change, but one day my friends were just that, 'Naomi's friends'. Blair never called them daddy and never got close to any of them again. He'd be polite and go places with them when he was invited. Some of the men I'd dated went out of their way to befriend Blair. Buying him things he wanted, and taking him to ball games. But they'd soon grow frustrated by the distance he kept between them and himself. They didn't understand why a fatherless boy didn't want a man to hang around.  
  
Of course I knew. How could I not? So I just nodded and gave him my blessing when he left to go to the library, saying he had homework to do. My stomach twists sharply at the memory-I knew Blair wasn't always at the library. Sometimes he'd leave and wouldn't come back for hours, and to this day, I still don't know where he'd go. Then he joined the basketball team. The smallest player, but quick on his feet his coach used to praise. Then the science club. I still don't understand why he felt he had to steal a microscope instead of just asking for one. But since the incident never led to further delinquency, I put it out of my head and went on with life.  
  
Was I wrong? Did that incident mean something and I just never saw?  
  
I never asked and I never wondered when the judge ordered Blair into therapy. It was just a microscope. Leave it to 'the man' to blow the whole thing out of proportion and see Blair as some deranged criminal. A friend had told me that Blair's aura seemed off-dark and smudged, so I sent him to see an emotional freedom therapist my friend had recommended. The therapist was a licensed counselor in the state of Washington so the judge was happy.   
  
There was no way I was going to send him to another quack like the one Blair saw as a baby. So what if he wet the bed and had nightmares? I didn't mind him sleeping with me. He was a late bloomer. All children develop at different rates. Blair just needed more time with some things. I mean, really, what good did it do to have Blair go and play with toys with some stranger for two hours a day three times a week? Besides line the man's wallet that is. I know all about quacks like that. I dated one for two weeks and that explained it all.  
  
It wasn't long before Blair started at Rainier and he seemed happy enough after that. We'd had him emancipated so I wouldn't need to be contacted for every little thing. After all, it was Blair's life and the decisions should have been up to him. No one ever called or sent anything expressing concern regarding Blair after that, so I always assumed he was fine. He was fine, wasn't he?  
  
I suppose it's too late to worry about any of that.   
  
I need to focus on the present. I'm married to a loving man who understands my need for independence. He never tells me what to do, he doesn't expect me to keep house and pick up after him. He cooks, he cleans, and he makes love to me like I've never been loved before. Best of all, he knows about Blair and doesn't push me to tell him who Blair's father is. It's enough to know that the man isn't a part of my life and never will be.   
  
I squeeze Jared's hand and he turns back to me. "Just a silly dream," I say again and smile broadly at him. His pout melts away and he leans in, catching my lips and kissing me hard. His tongue dances in my mouth and I cup his cheek tenderly. What did I ever do to deserve this man?  
  
Needing air, Jared finally pulls away and smiles gently at me. "I love you," he says, then says it again, more firmly. As if willing me to believe him. I never doubted him. Ever. He's waited a long time for me-years, and now that he finally has me he doesn't really believe it. How do I make him understand that I have never even considered this commitment with any man before him? And it took eight years for me to make it now.   
  
Jared is unlike any man I have ever dated or slept with. We've been together now for seven months, not including the time we were together before. We'd met in New York eight years ago. He was there for a medical conference and I was there with a friend. I was enamored immediately. He was so handsome, but so shy. My friend and I were having dinner in the hotel dining room and I could see this handsome man sitting at the bar with a small group. I tried to catch his eye, but he blushed and turned away. When he looked back, I smiled and waved. He smiled but then frowned, his eyes flickering over to my friend.   
  
I'd patted my friend on the arm and made an excuse to go to the bar. I leaned into the handsome man's space and ordered my drink. I laid my hand on his arm and slid it down, resting it on his knee. 'I'm Naomi,' I'd said. 'He's just a friend' I'd explained. We moved to a private table and after a while, my friend left. We'd spent hours talking and laughing. But at the end of the evening, he wouldn't take me back to his room. I tried pouting, I tried teasing, but he was firm. Early conference he'd said. So we made plans to have dinner together the following evening. He didn't refuse that night.  
  
He was from Delaware and when the conference was over, we flew there together. He was curious about my job, and if I'd be missed. But I explained the heart has no choice in where it's led. I'd find another job quickly. And I did. I found myself falling in love and it scared me. The feelings were strong, so unlike what I'd felt with other men. Jared never tried to control me. I felt safe with him. It scared me. I left when I saw the ring in his underwear drawer. I loved him too much to say no, but I couldn't say yes.   
  
We met again seven months ago, purely by chance. I was at a protest in New Jersey that turned bad. The pigs showed up and things got violent. I ended up at the emergency room for ten stitches on my temple where I'd been hit with the corner of a sign. As I was waiting for the cops to decide whether or not I was worth dragging to jail, a doctor swept up and took my arm. I turned and looked up into the most beautiful brown eyes I have ever seen. Jared's eyes.   
  
The cops asked if he knew me and he said yes. They asked if he agreed to be responsible for me and he laughed and shook his head. 'No one's responsible for Naomi but Naomi,' he'd said. I spent the night in jail and moved in with Jared the next day. He said he forgave me but I don't think he really did until we said our vows.  
  
We married last month, in Hawaii on the beach. It was so romantic. A fairytale wedding. The kind I used to dream about as a little girl. I stopped letting myself believe in those dreams a long time ago, but apparently they really can come true.   
  
I wonder if Blair and Angeline are engaged yet. She is such a beautiful woman. So strong. She reminds me of me in so many ways. She can take care of herself. Blair told me about her parents, how poor Angeline was thrust into the caretaker role at such an early age.  
  
I know Blair won't treat her wrong. I raised him to respect women. I'm not surprised he found someone as strong as Angeline. Someone who didn't need Blair to make all the decisions-who wasn't afraid to think for herself. An equal.  
  
I'm roused from my musings by the lurch of the airplane as it touches the runway. We've landed and I hadn't realized we were even over Cascade. But that's okay. We made it and it's time to go see my son.  
  
Jared steadies me as I rise from my seat and hands me my carry-on from overhead. I slip my hand into his and we slowly follow the path of travelers down the metal tunnel and out into the bright lights of the airport.  
  
I scan the sea of faces but don't see Blair. I turn in a half moon and squint but he still doesn't appear. Finally, I hear, "Naomi!" and see Angeline waving and pushing her way through the crowd. I hug her and drop a kiss on her cheek and look behind her for my Blair. He's not there.  
  
"I'm so sorry Naomi, Blair had a last minute dinner meeting. He'll be meeting us at his condo," she explains. I'm disappointed and I can feel my heart begin to thrum again. Tension is winding its way up my neck at the thought of postponing my reunion with my son. I muster a smile and take her hand.  
  
"I understand," I say cheerfully. "It happens," I add, to show I really do understand. But how my son let work, let some conglomerate come before family is beyond my comprehension. What has my son become? 'Nonsense' I scold myself. 'He's still the same Blair, your baby boy,' I reassure myself.  
  
Turning to Jared, I wrap my arm around Angeline. "Jared, this is Blair's friend, Angeline." I see him wince and wonder briefly what's wrong. But then he smiles and takes her hand.   
  
"It's wonderful to meet you," he says, turning to me to continue the introductions.   
  
I go to his side and wrap my arm around his waist. "This is Jared," I say, squeezing his middle. I'm not wearing a ring-too establishment, so there is no outward sign that we are married. I don't want to risk Angeline saying anything to Blair before I have a chance to tell him my news. The brief introduction will have to do.   
  
I look up and he's frowning, but when he catches my eyes, he smiles and squeezes me back. He surprises me by leaning down and capturing my mouth in a lingering kiss. There is no doubt about our relationship now.  
  
"Well," I say, when he pulls away, grinning madly. "Let's get our bags. I'm so looking forward to seeing my baby again."  
  
Angeline and I make idle chatter, catching up on news while we make our way to the luggage carousels. We grab our bags and cross to the parking garage. We're loaded and heading towards Blair in no time.   
  
I'm not nervous any longer. Blair will understand. It was my decision. He should be happy that I've finally found someone to love. Like he has. We both deserve to be loved.  
  
I can see the lighthouse in the distance, beckoning us forward. Almost there. I'm practically thrumming with excitement. I lean forward slightly as we pull into the garage beneath the condo. I leave Jared to get our bags as I follow Angeline inside. The air is cool and I can see forward into the rec room. It's clean, not like the time I surprised Blair by stopping in on my way to California. He'd had papers strewn about and piles of dirty laundry. Like the Blair I remembered.  
  
I'm standing in the doorway and a gentle nudge reminds me to move forward. Jared piles half of our luggage on the floor and goes to get more. I walk in and let my gaze linger on the wall. The only piece of my Blair left. I feel a pang of sorrow at that and quickly turn away. It's not the time. It will never be the time unless I want to admit that this is all my creation. My mistake. I'm not ready yet.  
  
I turn and go down the hall, into Blair's office. You can tell he'd strived for neatness, but clutter was dominant. On the desk lay several folders and official looking documents, photographs, and mini-cassette tapes. A stack of typed papers was piled on the file cabinet and I drew closer to read the cover of the top paper. 'The Westward Journey'. Ah, his history class at the Salvation Army. Another sign that my Blair still existed. His love of learning and teaching was unique and it was a blessing that he was able to continue it.  
  
A warmth at my back tells me Jared had joined me. I lean into him and his cologne tinged scent washes over me. He smells so good. The door upstairs slams shut and I smile. Blair!   
  
Grinning, I grab Jared's hand and pull him behind me towards the stairs. Blair is home and I can't wait to share my news.  
  
"Sweetie!" I squeal when I catch up to him in the living room. He jumps and turns around quickly. His face breaks out in a tired smile and he opens his arms as he comes closer.   
  
"Mom," he says, as he wraps his arms around me and holds me close. I've missed him so much. I finally pull away and take his hands.   
  
"Blair, I have someone I want you to meet. Someone very important to me." I let one hand go and turn, holding it out to Jared. As Jared approaches, I can see Blair's smile begin to fade and his grip on my hand tightens.  
  
"Mom?" he says again, only this time it comes out unsure and shaky.   
  
"It's okay baby, I promise," I say as Jared takes my hand. "Blair, I'd like you to meet Jared, my husband."  
  
A gasp from the kitchen doorway startles me and I spin around. Angeline is standing there with her hand over her mouth.   
  
"I'm sorry," she apologizes, quickly dropping her hand and forcing a smile. "I'm just surprised. You didn't say anything," she adds.  
  
"I know darling. I just wanted it to be a surprise, and I wanted to make sure I was the one to tell Blair." I turn back around and Blair is just standing there, staring at Jared.   
  
"Sweetie? Are you alright?" I raise my hand to his face and he turns his eyes to me. He smiles-a small, thin smile, but a smile nonetheless.   
  
"I'm okay. Just a little shocked. You didn't . . ." he chokes off, clears his throat and tries again. "You didn't say anything. When?" he asks.  
  
"Last month. It was just the two of us Sweetie. We wanted to do this together, a small ceremony between just us." It was a lie and I knew it, but I didn't want to tell Blair that it was my idea to keep it simple. Jared had mentioned having close family there, but I just didn't want anything to detract from us.  
  
Blair looks at Jared and then back at me. "Congratulations," he says before wrapping me in his arms again. The hug is tense, but at least he understands. He pulls back and reaches his hand out to Jared. "Congratulations," he says again.  
  
He clears his throat and then gestures down the hall. "Um, I have to go do something. I'll be right back," he says before disappearing into one of the rooms and shutting the door.   
  
"I don't think he took that well," Jared murmurs beside me. I look at him, surprised.  
  
"Of course he did. He was just a little shocked. Once he adjusts he'll be fine," I say, trying to sound confident. In my head, something else entirely was going on. 'Oh god! What have I done! Why didn't I give him some time? Or talk to him alone? Why did I just blurt it out like that? What is wrong with me?'  
  
I can feel myself sway and strong arms enfold me and lead me over to the coach. "You're alright. Just breathe slowly. Deep breaths. Slow, that's it." I can feel my head clear and I sit up straighter.   
  
"I'm alright. I'm fine, really. I just lost my breath for a second. It's all been a little overwhelming." I lean against Jared and close my eyes. A cool touch against my hand lures my eyes open again and Angeline hands me a glass of water. I smile my thanks and take a small sip. Angeline looks at me with an intensity that surprises me before speaking.  
  
"I'm going to check on Blair. Please, make yourselves at home." She disappears down the hallway after Blair and Jared and I are alone once more.   
  
"Was that the reaction you were looking for?"  
  
"What?" I say, tiredly. "Of course not. I wasn't thinking. I thought he'd be happy for me-for us."  
  
"Naomi," Jared starts, but then fumbles to a halt. He shakes his head and wraps his arm tighter around me and leans his head on top of mine. "I'm just glad I've told my family already. They couldn't take that kind of surprise," he says quietly.  
  
My face flames and tears prickle at my eyes. I am ashamed. Was I trying to hurt Blair? Am I angry with him for some reason? Why do I always hurt him?  
  
"I never should have been a parent." I turn my head and sob into Jared's chest, "I've always been bad at it. I've never known how to be a parent, never knew the right words. I thought I would be better at it by now," I mourn.   
  
"You are a good parent Naomi. I love you. You've always been there for me," Blair quiet voice insists at my side. I lift my tear stained face and look down at him.  
  
"Really sweetie?" I ask, my eyes pleading to hear a truth I know is a lie.  
  
"Really," my baby agrees. I turn to him and wrap my arms around him and pull him close.  
  
"I love you so much," I tell him, pulling away and wiping at my eyes.  
  
"I know. And I love you too mom. Okay? Now please stop crying. It's a joyous time, right? I mean, you're married! Hell must have frozen over when I wasn't' looking," he jokes, trying to lighten the mood.  
  
I laugh and do my best to ignore the concerned looks from Jared and Angeline. "Okay, then. Enough of this wallowing. We've got a party to plan," I announce.  
  
Blair raises his eyebrow in that endearing way of his and looks puzzled. "I suppose we can whip together a reception," he says slowly.  
  
I smile at my only child and shake my head fondly. "For you sweetie. For your birthday. You only turn thirty once."  
  
Blair blushes and stands up. "Oh no. That's really not necessary. Maybe we'll just do something small here at the condo-just a few friends."  
  
Blair never was good with attention. But this day is his and I've ruined it enough.  
  
"Nonsense!" I say. "I've brought along the photo albums. We can blow up some of your baby pictures. Wouldn't that just be adorable?" I gush.  
  
Blair groans and covers his face. "I'll never live it down," he moans piteously.   
  
"Blair Jodi Sandburg! Don't you smart mouth your mother," I warn.  
  
He moans again.   
  
"That's what I thought." I wrap my arm around his shoulders and hug him quickly. "Oh, this'll be so much fun . . .."  
  
END 


	6. All Good Things

All Good Things . . .  
  
By: Victoria May  
  
"No ma'am . . .. Yes, I am taking this seriously . . .. No ma'am, you can not go into his home and take his fish as retribution . . .. Yes ma'am, I realize he took your cat and won't give it back, but that's not a major crime." I roll my eyes at Rafe who is smothering laughter behind his hand and return to the irate woman on the line, Mrs. Randolph, who's son-in-law apparently took her cat while she was away on vacation and now won't give it back.   
  
"Mrs. Randolph . . .. Mrs. Randolph! I'm going to transfer you now to the desk sergeant. He'll be able to help you. Mrs. . . . Mrs. Randolph-transferring you now, yes, goodbye." I quickly put the line on hold and transfer the call downstairs. I set the handset down and rub my eyes. What a woman. There are times when I'm glad to be single.  
  
I grab my empty coffee mug and I'm just about to push out of my chair when Simon's door flies open and he booms, "Brown! Rafe! My office-now!"   
  
His voice is sharp, and he's glaring at Major Crime's own clowns like they beheaded the pope and for once, I'm glad it's not my name being hollered across the bullpen. Of course the number of instances of that occurring has fallen dramatically in the last year or so. Since, well, no-that's not a place I want to go. Today he's not even looking my way and I can live with that.  
  
I share a look with Brown as he passes me and I grin cockily. I feel for ya buddy. As if he can sense my thoughts, he narrows his eyes and looks at me sideways and I have to laugh. He looks so miserable about being called into the lion's den when Simon is so obviously in a bad, bad mood. Rafe nudges his partner's shoulder to get him moving again and the pair continues on, into the captain's office.  
  
Chucking softly to myself, I complete my sojourn into the break-room and pour myself a cup of hot sludge. I've found that if I dial down far enough, even the last of the batch can taste better than gourmet. But today the coffee is palatable without any extraneous help and I fill my mug to the brim and carry it back to my desk.  
  
I glance towards Simon's office and I can see him leaning against his desk, his arms folded across his chest. His head is down but his lips are moving. I wonder what he's saying as Brown and Rafe are listening with shocked looks and angry eyes. I'm tempted to listen in, but Simon trusts me not to, both as my captain and as my friend. If he even suspects that I'm abusing his goodwill I know that I'll be out on my ass as fast as I can blink. Simon's like that. He'll give you undying trust, but break that trust and watch out. You do not want to be on that man's bad side. And besides, his friendship means too much to me to throw it so carelessly away. If he has something to say to me, he'll say it.   
  
Tamping down my curiosity, I turn back to my desk and pick up an unfinished report. Might as well get some work done. Brown'll fill me in a.s.a.p. anyway.   
  
I'm almost through with the report when the door to Simon's office opens and I can't help myself, I glance up. Brown and Rafe hurry by, neither looking my way. I watch as they grab their coats and rush out without so much as a word to anyone. Weird.   
  
I almost turn back to my work when I get this creepy crawly feeling along the back of my neck. I glance over at the captain's office and Simon's standing there, staring at me. I've seen that look before, usually when . . .. The realization hits me square on-someone's dead.   
  
I'm out of my chair before I even realize I've moved and I'm in Simon's face demanding to know who it is.  
  
His eyes soften and he cocks his head at his office. I follow him mutely and wait while he closes the door and draws the blinds.  
  
"Jim," he starts.  
  
I raise my hand. "Who?" I demand, interrupting him.  
  
"Jim, sit down," he says, putting his hand on my shoulder.   
  
I jerk away and slam into the table behind me. "Just tell me who Simon," I growl. My hands are curled into fists. I'm not going to hit him, but Simon takes a step back anyway.  
  
"Jim, listen to me. No one's dead," he says firmly and I can feel the air escape my lungs in a giant hiss. "Now please, sit down."  
  
This time I follow his directive and lower myself into a chair. Simon sits near, but not too near, and leans toward me.  
  
"There was an explosion at Redwood. Blair was hurt, so was Angeline. They're at St. Joseph's. Angeline caught the blast full on. She's bad . . . bad Jim. Third degree . . . half her face and neck, and . . . her chest. She must . . . turned or we wouldn't . . . ID yet . . ."  
  
His words are fading in and out and I can feel numbness creeping along my arms and into my hands. I can't move and it's taking everything I have to even draw in a breath. I can see his large, brown hand settle on my knee, but I can't feel it. He's leaning close now and I blink rapidly as I focus on his lips. They're moving but I can't hear anything. All I can feel is my heart slamming against my ribcage and I think I'm actually having a heart attack.  
  
Suddenly my vision is filled with a close up of frightened brown eyes and I can feel the warmth of Simon's hands where they're grasping my head.   
  
" . . . are you . . . to me?"   
  
My hearing kicks in and I can hear the fear in my friend's voice.  
  
"You need to calm down Jim. Please, I don't know what I'm doing here-what's going on?"  
  
I raise my hand and clamp down on his arm, and squeeze to let him know I'm okay. His head falls and he shakes his head, his hands still cupping my face.  
  
"Thank you god," he murmurs before finally letting his hands slip away. "Are you okay?" he demands quietly.   
  
I nod and finally muster words; "I'm okay."  
  
"What the hell was that?"  
  
I shake my head and shrug.   
  
"Was that a-a sentinel thing?" he asks. He's afraid and I don't blame him. It's been a long time since my senses have caused me havoc. But it's not my senses and I tell him so.  
  
"It's a Jim thing." I'm almost afraid to admit it. So much of my so-called 'fear-based responses', those which caused such a riff between Blair and I at one time, have always and only been a Jim thing.  
  
Simon sits back and shakes his head. "Well, you need to pull it together Jim. We need to get out of here." He makes to stand but I reach out and grab his arm.  
  
"Wait! What about Blair . . .?" I hadn't heard, or maybe I did and my brain refused to process it. But whatever the reason, I still didn't know what happened to my friend.  
  
He eases back into the chair and looks at me. "He's going to need you Jim. He's going to need all of us this time. We can't . . .." his voice chokes and he pauses, looking away quickly. Finally, he clears his throat and goes on. "We can't let him down again."  
  
This time it's me lending a supportive hand. "I know. I won't," I promise, because I know that it was me, not them, who really let Blair down. Who is still letting him down, hanging back after he threw himself back into our friendship, into my life.   
  
"The blast threw him across the room. They don't know if he hit the wall or the floor, but either way, the damage was done." He's still not looking at me.  
  
"How bad?" I force out.  
  
"Bad. His skull is fractured and they're worried about injury to his spinal cord. That's all I know."  
  
I draw in a deep breath and stare at the closed door. "What happened?" I need something to remove the picture of a lifeless, dead Blair from my mind. Something that can replace the image of that damn fountain and Blair's floating body.  
  
"They think it was a bomb. Had to have been. Nothing else would have been so contained." Simon heaves a sigh and pushed out of his chair. "Let's go."  
  
He's grabbing his coat and is out the door before I'm even on my feet. I scramble after him, grateful that I'm not the only one thrown for a loop here. I ignore the curious looks we're getting from the other detectives and riffraff milling around the bullpen and grab my coat, meeting up with Simon at the elevator. We're both silent on the way to the hospital.  
  
The ER's busy-it usually is, no matter what time of the day or night. But today it seems unusually so. We have to literally push our way to the admit desk. Simon reaches the counter first and is leaning across, holding out his badge.  
  
"I need to know the status of the two victims of the Redwood bombing!" he nearly shouts at the clerk.  
  
The clerk is a wet behind the ears college kid and he squints behind his glasses as he looks at first Simon and then me looming behind my boss.  
  
"Can I see that badge again? I can't just give out info to anyone who asks," he spouts.   
  
Simon narrows his eyes and the kid steps back. Before he can take another both Simon and my badges are in his face and we're glaring outright now. His hand quivers, just slightly, as he reaches for my badge. Figures he'd ignore Simon and go for the white guy. I snatch mine back and jerk my head towards Simon.   
  
"He's the boss kid," I snarl.  
  
His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and he takes Simon's badge and quickly glances at it before handing it back. "Just a minute," he says before disappearing into the throng.  
  
I let my attention wander around the busy space, not really noticing anything in particular. Simon's voice draws my attention back to the here and now.  
  
"Damn kid," he snaps and I look in the direction he's staring. The clerk is over at the other end of the reception area, dickering with a mother clutching a small child. What the hell?  
  
I turn to charge around the desk and nearly collide with a doctor approaching from the other direction.  
  
"Detectives?" she asks as she draws near.  
  
Simon steps forward with his hand out. "Captain Banks, Major Crimes division." He nods in my direction. "This is Detective Ellison. What can you tell us?"  
  
The doctor, a tall, gangly woman with frizzy hair pulled back in a ponytail, nods at me and addresses Simon. "Captain, I'm Dr. Sweeney, Chief of Emergency Services. First off, both victims have been moved to surgery.   
  
"Ms. Mercado has third degree burns on roughly forty percent of her face and head, neck and upper chest area, as well as her arm."  
  
My stomach roils angrily and I clench my teeth, barely noticing the heavy hand settle on my shoulder. I struggle to push down my fear and anger, and focus on the doctor.  
  
"She has second degree burns extending down her chest. Her face and her left hand received most of the damage. Her hand must have been almost on top of the bomb. They may not be able to save what's left of her hand-the damage was extreme. The bones in that arm were essentially shattered by the blast, the elbow and shoulder dislocated. The skin received third degree burns. The damage to her face was extensive. She will need numerous surgeries to rebuild her ear, nose, mouth and chin. Thanks to the advance in burn care, her chances of survival are improved, but infection is always a risk and she will need intensive care for quite some time in the burn unit."  
  
She paused, allowing us time to digest her report and at Simon's slight nod, she continued, giving the report I both dreaded and needed to hear.  
  
"Mr. Sandburg came in with a blunt force head trauma and possible spinal cord injury, which an MRI has already ruled out. However, there is swelling around the cord and four cracked vertebrae. Mr. Sandburg will be looking forward to a lengthy recovery in traction for that alone."  
  
I grit my teeth and force myself to continue listening-I know I should feel relieved, but its damn hard.  
  
"As for the head trauma, his skull was fractured and fluid was collecting around his brain. He is in surgery at the moment to install a shunt to drain the fluid, which will hopefully allow his brain to heal more easily. There is swelling in his brain-once the shunt is in place he will be treated with drugs to reduce the swelling. As far as damage, we won't know until later. He did receive minor, first degree burns over his face and arms, but those will heal with no lasting scars."  
  
She stops again and waits. "You can obtain copies of all pertinent records down one level in B14, the Records Office."   
  
Simon nods and asks, "And where can we wait for an update?"  
  
It's obvious she doesn't realize that we're more than just investigating officers, as she's tapping her foot and casting looks towards the clock on the wall next to us. "Ms. Mercado will be moved to the Burn Unit on the fifth floor and Mr. Sandburg will be taken to the Critical Care Unit on two."  
  
Finally giving in to her need to be elsewhere, she prompts, "If you don't need anything else?"  
  
"Oh, no. Thank you for your time," Simon says and I watch as she hurries away to join in the care of a bloody kid being pushed in on a stretcher.  
  
With his back to me, Simon growls out a low, "Let's go," and begins to walk towards the elevators as I trail along behind. How did this happen? He was supposed to be safe, doing his own thing. Living his own life. Something like this wasn't supposed to happen-not now. Not ever.  
  
An arm on my hand stops my forward movement and I glance over at Simon. He's holding something in his hands and I frown.   
  
"What's that?"  
  
"This?" he says, holding up what looks like a file. "Oh, this is just the initial report from the ER. Which I just got from medical records. While you were busy staring at the wall. You want to spend a little more time in la la land or are you ready to go upstairs?"  
  
I turn away and jab the elevator button. It's already glowing white, but I jab it again. We're silent until we get to the fifth floor. I'm not ready to see Blair, and I need to know-to see how bad Angeline really is. The damage the doctor was talking about, I'd seen similar damage, some better, some worse in combat. But it wasn't something I'd ever expected to have to see in this life.  
  
It feels like we've been waiting hours-we probably have-when a doctor in surgeon's scrubs approaches us.   
  
"Captain Banks?" he asks as he slumps down in a chair next to Simon. At Simon's nod, he pulls a brightly colored cap off his head revealing shiny, wet skin. "I'm Doctor Kilpatrick, Chief of Surgery. I headed up the team working on Ms. Mercado," he says, extending his hand.  
  
Simon grasps it like a lifeline and then remembers me. "I'm sorry," he says, tearing his eyes from the doctor's face and pats my back. "This is Detective Ellison-while he's not officially working on the bombing, he is a good friend of Ms. Mercado's."  
  
The doctor looks surprised as he takes my hand. "Detective," he says, before launching into his horrifying tale.  
  
"The surgery went as well as can be expected. We had a team working on her arm and then on her face. There wasn't much we could do for her face at this time-we'll need to wait for the burns to heal before we attempt any real reconstruction. But for now, she's able to breathe. Amazingly, her jaw wasn't shattered as was first suspected, but was grossly displaced. We've inserted wires to allow her jaw to heal. Her nose is another story. Basically, it was destroyed and will need to be rebuilt. For now, breathing tubes have been inserted to keep the nasal passages open and provide oxygen." He paused and his hand reached up, fingers tugging distractedly at his earlobe.  
  
"Most of her ear was destroyed as well and will need further work. Once the burns are adequately healed, we'll schedule the surgeries together to minimize the trauma for Ms. Mercado. The eardrum was shattered and in all likelihood, there will be permanent hearing loss in that ear. We will be bringing in a specialist to attend to that aspect of Ms. Mercado's care however, so his prognosis may differ."  
  
It's a lot of information to take in at once and I rub my eyes warily. "Her arm?" I prompt. I'm tired and I really want to go see Blair.  
  
Kilpatrick sighs and stretches his neck. "We were able to salvage her wrist, lower hand and thumb. It was more than we'd hoped for to be honest. After the hand heals from this surgery, and we see what shape it takes, she can be fit for a prosthesis. The ulna and radius bones were broken in several places-we had to stabilize the breaks with pins and screws. Both the elbow and shoulder were dislocated but should heal with no lingering problems. We did have to repair extensive nerve and tendon damage but that also should heal well." Sighing he stood.  
  
"I know it doesn't sound good gentlemen, but right now it's really wait and see. The extensive burns Ms. Mercado received from the explosion are the gravest concern. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got another surgery in two hours and I'd like to catch some shuteye."  
  
I lean back and shut my eyes, letting Simon see the doctor off. This is so unbelievable and it pisses me off. I am just so fucking angry I could hit something. I can feel my hand curling into a fist just as a large but gentle weight settles over it. Simon. I open my eyes and look into his-willing him to see how hard this is for me.  
  
"I know Jim-it's killing me too," he says softly. Damn, but he is getting good at reading me. I almost smile at the thought. He grips my hand harder and then stands.  
  
"Let's go see the kid."  
  
It didn't take us long to find out that Blair was out of recovery and settled in his own room. I was prepared for bad, but this is so much worse. Blair, my Blair-my friend, is an array of burnt skin, singed hair, mottled bruises, all rolled up in a trapeze like contraption that is holding him immobile and looking as pathetic as I've ever seen. There's a large white bandage near the back of his head and it draws my attention. I almost miss the fact that Blair's eyes are open and are watching us watch him.  
  
"Hey," I say gently, moving forward. I drag the vinyl chair closer and drop into it, taking his hand in mine. His eyes follow my movements and I realize too late that the brace around his neck is keeping him from seeing me clearly. I stand and lean over him so he can see me better.  
  
"How're you doing?" I whisper. He doesn't respond, but his eyes slide away from me and settle on Simon.  
  
Simon never ceases to amaze me. I've known him a long time, but I tend to forget he has such a soft side. I guess being captain means being the bad guy and seeing the big, bad captain soothe and coddle with the best, well, it's just eerie.   
  
"Hey Blair, how're you doing kid?" he croons as he slips his large hand into Blair's lax one and rubs his thumb over Blair's pale skin. "You gave us quite the scare. You really need to stop doing that-I'm too old for these kinds of phone calls."  
  
My vision expands until just two hands fill it: one pale-almost translucent and still, the other a rich cacophony of browns that radiates warmth and comfort. I startle when Blair's fingers tense then wrap slightly around Simon's. My own fingers suddenly feel as though they're caught in a vise and I shake them lose. I catch my mistake but not in time. Blair's eyes slide towards me then away, quickly filling with tears.   
  
"Hey kiddo, don't do that. You just startled me. I dialed up, way up. Guess I forgot some of those lessons you taught me," I explain, my own hand going up to brush hair away from his eyes.  
  
I smile at his whispered, "Dial it down."  
  
"I'll do that," I say, relieved to hear his voice. Until this moment, I wasn't sure there wasn't some sort of brain damage going on.  
  
"Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up. I promise." He's trying so hard to stay awake, but there's no need. I'd slipped my hand back around his, and a tiny squeeze draws my attention again.  
  
"Angi?" he asks, his eyes darting between Simon and I.  
  
Simon leans over and looks Blair right in the eye. "She's alive Blair. She had to have surgery, like you, and she came through with flying colors."  
  
He's leaving out the grimmer details, like hearing loss, reconstructive surgery, and prosthetics but Blair doesn't need to know any of that this soon. He has his own battle to fight.   
  
I catch Simon's attention and nod towards the door. I turn back to Blair.   
  
"Hey Chief, we're going to grab a quick bite to eat. You need to sleep and get some strength back. We'll see you soon."   
  
He nods and his eyes drift shut and within seconds he's sleeping peacefully. Simon and I slip out into the hall.  
  
"Where the hell's his doctor?" I growl. I want some assurances and I want them now. My friend is lying there after having surgery on his brain and spine and I want to know-no, I need to know how worried I should be.  
  
It takes some time, but his doctor eventually arrives and gives us a run down of what to expect. The traction is to stabilize his back while his fused spine heals. Four vertebrae fractured in the blast that threw him across a room and into a shut door. He'll be in that contraption for several weeks before graduating to a body cast. Then months of rehabilitation and he'll still have limited motion and lifting ability as a result of the rod attached to the section of vertebrae that took the hit the hardest. But his spinal cord escaped damage, and if a month, or six months in traction means that it stays that way, then so be it.   
  
His brain scans look good-the shunt they installed in his brain has released the pressure that was building up around the spot where his head met the wall. Various medications will ensure that the swelling goes down and stays down. He'll have to sit through lots more tests and scans before the doctor will be completely satisfied, but that's okay. Because Blair is going to be okay-he has to be.  
  
I'd really thought that I was over this. I thought that I didn't need him anymore. I've tried so hard to convince myself that I was okay, better than okay, because I was finally standing on my own two feet. God, I was so wrong. What must he have felt in these months since I spilled his drink in that dark pub? He took me at my word that I was happy to see him-that I was happy that his life had come to what I considered a pretty successful juncture. But now I can finally see, will finally admit, that all this time I'd been wishing I'd been somewhere else that night.  
  
I know he knows. He's not stupid and if anyone has ever known me, it's him. He's always known when I was hiding something, or when I was afraid. Did he think that I would push him away again if he said anything? What made him keep his silence? Did I mean so much to him, even after all the times I did push him away, punished him when my life went awry, that he would endure my silent abuse with nary a murmur?  
  
He's changed these last few years, I'd thought for the better. But I can see now that so much of that renewed confidence is a sham. I wanted to believe that it was all coming together for him. I didn't want to worry about him. I'd convinced myself that Blair was a survivor-that he'd land on his feet no matter what. But I was wrong. And I wasn't alone in donning the blinders. No one spoke of Blair after I'd dismissed him from my life. It was as if he'd died-no, it was like he'd been erased. And after all this time, after being abandoned to deal with the fallout on his own, he still tries so hard to keep us near him.  
  
I've often wondered how his life would have turned out if he had never met me. Would he have finished his doctorate? Would he have still written a Nobel-Prize-worthy piece of art? Would he be married by now, with tiny little Sandburgs running amuck? Or would he be off making contact with faraway cultures, writing book after book full of world changing observations?   
  
But he did meet me and we can't change that. I'm starting to wonder if someone or something out there keeps bringing us together. I've finally come to accept my senses, and even accept the whole mystical aspect of being a Sentinel. I've never wanted to rely on anyone, not for anything. I've never really known how. But when Blair walked into my life, I found myself so out of control it scared me. And it wasn't just because I was out of control, but because someone else-Blair, had somehow taken that control into his own hands.   
  
Would he have understood that? I'd never bothered to explain. I'd assumed he always knew, but now I think he never did. How could he? I never let on. I let him believe that his role in my life was limited to whispered directions to dial down my hearing or dial up my eyesight. I let him teach me about piggybacking one sense onto another. I even let him strap me into weird contraptions that flashed strobe lights into my eyes. But I never let him know how much of my life he had really changed.   
  
You'd think for a smart guy he would have figured it out. I mean, we went almost everywhere together. I let him live with me. He came on far more stakeouts and participated in more sting operations than most seasoned flatfoots. And when I realized how much I'd come to rely on him, not just for my senses, but as my friend, I began to push him away. And still he didn't figure it out.   
  
My one true sin in all of this, is letting it go on for so long that we ended up in this situation. I should have cut him loose years ago. But I couldn't.   
  
I see him lying in that hospital room and I am so ashamed. For a smart guy, you'd think I would have figured it out long before now.   
  
I need him. I always have. 


	7. Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot

"Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot"  
  
By: Victoria May  
  
The snow has grown thick-fluffy by the time I pull my luggage out of the trunk. It reminds me of childhood games of king of the mountain and skating on old man Walter's pond. Of course, if we'd known then that the 'pond' was really sewage overflow, well, we wouldn't have been skating, that's for sure. Old Walter is probably still rolling over in his grave laughing his ass off.  
  
But the snow is cool on my hot face and it's a relief to finally be here. Flying across the continent is not my idea of fun and games. But it's been far too long since I've seen my girl and she needs me right now.  
  
I don't know about Blair though. He's a tough one to read. Not that I'm surprised by that-not after the way we were introduced. I'm surprised he can even stand to talk to me let alone invite me into his home to stay for a month. A month-what the hell was I thinking?  
  
I know, he's family now. He hasn't made the marriage an issue. He hasn't tried to blame me for keeping the truth from him. He's been friendly and polite and has even gone out of his way to learn about my family and my life. He's pretty tightlipped about himself though. Naomi had warned me of that. Said not to push him-to just let him be. That it was just the way Blair is.   
  
Uh huh. Right. But to go there only leads me down roads I don't want to travel. Places where Naomi isn't as perfect as I want to believe. I've waited a long time for her and frankly, I'm a simpering coward. Afraid to push the envelop or confront her about the life she's led, the life she's shared with her son. A life she's so graciously let me be a part of.   
  
I'm not a stupid man. I know Naomi. I know enough to realize that our marriage means something. That out of every man Naomi has ever been with or loved, that I am the one she chose forever with.   
  
I love Naomi. She's everything I have ever wanted. She beautiful. She's so confident and independent. I've been with plenty of women who've clung to my side and seemed to thrive off the attention of being with a 'doctor'. Big deal. I don't want a groupie. I want excitement, the thrill of the chase, intelligent conversations, passion . . . I swear Naomi must have taken a class on the Kama Sutra. And she sure was right about yoga.  
  
I know, sex isn't everything. And it's not. Naomi, well, she just makes me feel so much . . . more. It's a feeling that I can't really put into words.   
  
"Yo! Jared! You planning on coming inside anytime soon?"  
  
I jump, just a bit, and am surprised to see Blair standing on the front stoop watching me.   
  
"Now just how long have you been standing there?" I ask, gathering up my bags.  
  
"Long enough," he answers, holding the door open. "Hope that didn't hurt," he says as he follows me into the foyer.   
  
"What?" I search for a place to set my bags and he just gestures to the corner behind the door.   
  
"Just set 'em down and let them dry out for now. And what, what?"   
  
I watch him grasp the handrail and slowly step up on the first step.  
  
"The first step's always a doozy," he says, reading my mind.   
  
"Be careful Blair! Hold onto the rail!" Naomi's melodic voice floats down the stairs.  
  
Blair just slowly turns his head-it's almost freakish watching him do that while his back is ramrod straight and still facing forward-and rolls his eyes.  
  
"I am so glad you're here man. Do you think you can get her out of my hair, like maybe, tonight? Take her somewhere, anywhere. Take her shopping or see a movie-oh, I know! There's a new Tai place downtown, she'll love that."  
  
"I can hear you, you know."  
  
And there's the love of my life.  
  
"Naomi," I say, smiling widely. "You look . . .." My grin falters as I notice the white powder liberally decorating her sweater and the smudge of something across her brow. "Um, you look . . .." I turn to my new stepson. "Help me out here Blair."  
  
"Betty Crockery," he answers, without missing a beat. "She's baking."  
  
I shudder and paste on a smile. "Baking? Well, that's, um, great." I've tasted Naomi's attempts at baking. Betty Crocker she is not.  
  
Blair's finally made it to the top of the stairs and he's panting slightly. I catch up and step in close, just in case. "You okay?" I ask.  
  
"Fine, fine. Just a little tuckered," he says. "Go say hi to your wife," he says, shooing me away. He rolls his eyes again as I follow him over to a chair and take his arm to help him sit.  
  
"Okay, not an invalid!" he gripes.  
  
"Didn't say you were," I reply, moving over to my gorgeous wife. "Hello beautiful," I greet before tasting her lips again. I almost melt, she tastes so good. It has been far, far too long. Dr. Eaton and I will be having a few words when I get back to Jersey. Since when do I rank so low I can't take emergency family leave when I need it? I know I could have just taken it, left anyway and had the law to back me, but I need Eaton's support if I want the research grant I applied for. The old crotchety bastard. God, I hope he retires soon.  
  
"How was your flight?" she asks, pulling back slightly.  
  
"I'm just glad it's over," I answer before taking her lips again. "Mmn," I groan. "I missed you so much."  
  
Her head tucks perfectly into the curve of my neck and I smell her organic shampoo. "Me too," she answers quietly. I rub her back, reveling in her warmth. As I pull away, she makes a tiny squeal.  
  
"Oh, your shirt! I hope it's not ruined."  
  
I glance down and frown at the frosty covering of flour across my chest. "Huh. Well, since I'm already covered in flour, I guess I'll just have to help you in the kitchen." And maybe salvage whatever it is your baking, I add silently to myself.  
  
"Oh, you don't have to do that," Naomi says.   
  
"But I want to," I insist.  
  
"You think I'm going to burn the cake," she accuses, tilting her head at me. I blush and she laughs. "I promise, it'll be edible."  
  
"Never doubted you," I bluff. I turn to wink at Blair and find him staring at us, his eyes slightly out of focus. He must finally realize I'm watching him because his eyes dart quickly away.  
  
Naomi starts to move away so I wrap my arm around her waist and walk with her into the kitchen. Sure enough, the room is a mess. Ignoring the pile of flour on the counter, I push her back against the dusty surface and press myself against her. I need to touch her-to feel her velvety skin. To taste her-I nibble at her earlobe. "Missed you," I say again. She groans and grabs a handful of hair, pulling my lips to hers.  
  
"I need you," she says, gasping for air, her slender body arching forward.  
  
"Blair," I start to protest.  
  
"He's fine. He understands. You're my husband and I haven't seen you in weeks." And that's all it takes. I notice as we pass through the living room that Blair has left. The door to his bedroom is shut. It's the last thought I have before I get to know my wife again.  
  
We love, and we tease, and we talk and finally, we just lay there holding one another.  
  
"You did turn the oven off?" I ask eventually, stupidly.   
  
Naomi giggles and rolls over, slipping her arm over my waist. "Of course."   
  
We lapse back into a comfortable silence and it's Naomi who breaks it this time. "You can stay, can't you?" asks, quietly.  
  
"Yes," I whisper. "The entire month. I told you that."  
  
"I know," she says. "I just had to be sure. After the . . . accident, and you had to leave. I just had to be sure," she says, and I feel like an ass. Of course she's not sure. I didn't-couldn't stay when Blair was in the hospital. I'd promised her that I'd be here, but Eaton . . .. No, it's no one's fault but my own and I know it. I'd felt like I'd been given a second chance when Naomi asked me to come as soon as possible. I know I fucked up-I put my job before the one thing, the one person, who means the most to Naomi.   
  
Naomi stretches in my embrace and I smile at the feel of her smooth skin sliding beneath my hand.  
  
"I'm going out," she says as she leans over and gently kisses me.  
  
"Oh? Where are we going?" I ask, watching her slide into a satin robe.  
  
"I," she emphasizes, "am going to get my hair done and then I'm meeting a friend for dinner." My heart quickens and I can feel sweat break out on my forehead.   
  
" . . . she's been feeling isolated and shut in and I thought it was time for her to get out. And I can't help but feel a bit closed in myself. I love Blair and he needs me, but I miss my freedom."   
  
I sigh when I realize she's talking about a female friend. I love Naomi, and I trust her. I do. But a part of me-a rather vengeful part-likes to remind me that she left me once.  
  
"Oh," I answer. "Okay, I'll just unpack and hang out with Blair."  
  
"Oh, thank you," Naomi gushes. "You two need this time to really get to know each other. I know it hasn't been easy-for either of you. He likes you, I know he does. There's nothing greater in this world that I want more than for the two men I love most to really be friends." She flutters about but doesn't protest when I join her in the shower.  
  
She's finally ready to go and I walk her to the garage door and kiss her again. "Be careful," I warn. "The snow was really picking up as I got here."  
  
She assures me she'll be fine and then I'm left alone-with my stepson.  
  
Stepson. What a concept. I finally meet the woman of my dreams and I become a father-sort of. If I'm to have any role in Blair's life, I haven't sorted it out yet. But hell, what do I know about being a father? My dad isn't exactly role model material. He drinks too much and spends all day in front of the idiot box. Of course, he has his moments, but I want more than moments. I want it all.  
  
I want Naomi to know that she means more to me than anything-I think I'd even tell Eaton to go to hell if she insisted. Thankfully, she hasn't.  
  
My stomach rumbles and I decide it's time to find something to eat. Blair hasn't come out of his room, and I'm a little worried. I'm sure he would have called out if he'd hurt himself, but you can't be too careful. I approach his door and knock softly. There's no answer so I knock harder, while opening the door. The light from the hallway falls on the bed, and he's lying there asleep. He has an arm flung over his eyes, so I'm guessing he's got a headache.  
  
"Blair," I say, while gently shaking his shoulder.  
  
"Hmm?" he breathes after a few seconds.  
  
"Did you take something for that headache?" I ask.  
  
"Yeah," he says, nodding his head. "Not so bad now."  
  
"Good. You hungry?" I ask.  
  
Blair sighs and his arm falls to rest on his chest. He squints up at me. "Where's Naomi?"  
  
I hate hearing him call his own mother by her given name, but I'm not in a position to criticize. "She went out with a friend."   
  
He nods again. "Oh, yeah. Janice. She was waiting for you to get here to babysit."  
  
I snort. "Babysitter I am not. But I know how to dial up a mean pizza. So, are you hungry or not?"  
  
He thinks for a second before answering. "Yeah, just give me a minute."   
  
"You need some help?" I offer.  
  
"No, I've got this part down." He rolls to his side and slowly pushes himself up until he's sitting straight. He grabs hold of the bedside table and uses it to push himself upwards. I finally notice that the bed has been replaced, this one being much lower to the ground  
  
He waves me out and says, "I'll catch up."  
  
I wander down to the rec room and use the time take a good look around. I've been here before, but this is the first time I've really had a chance to relax and take it all in. I know Blair has an advanced degree in anthropology, and the walls in this room speak loudly of his true passion. I wonder why Blair keeps his life so contained-the rooms upstairs are bright and cold and tell nothing about the man living within their walls.  
  
In this room, you get a glimpse of the man I haven't yet had the chance to meet. I wonder if I ever will.  
  
I study the photos near the bar and grin at the few that hold images of my lovely lady.   
  
"She's beautiful, isn't she?"  
  
I jump, startled. I hadn't heard Blair come down. Ignoring my racing heart, I nod. I finger a picture of Naomi surrounded by women, young and old, all dressed in tattered clothes with dirt encrusted skin and every one of them with a huge grin on their dark faces.   
  
"I took that when we were in Botswana. We stayed with a group of !Kung and Naomi loved it--the people, their ways. She was enthralled. It broke her heart when it was time to move on."  
  
"She's an amazing lady," I finally say. I tear my eyes away and go to sit down. "So how's your lady?" I ask, gently.  
  
Blair shrugs before slowly settling onto one of the other couches. "Not doing so well," he says quietly.  
  
That's not what I'd heard and I'm surprised. "No? Naomi told me the burns are healing and Angeline's doctors are getting ready for the first surgery."  
  
"They are. That's not what I meant. I mean, she is getting better and they are going to start the surgeries. It's just . . .."   
  
"What's going on Blair?" I coax, sensing that he's about to shut down.  
  
He squeezes his eyes shut and sighs. "She won't see me. Her parents won't even let me through the door."  
  
Ah. Naomi had told me about this small problem. It's not surprising, at least not to me. I've encountered lots of patients who don't want their loved ones to see them when they're at their worst.  
  
"I don't blame her man. I freaked. The first time I saw her; it was just-fuck! Her face-all I could think was that her beautiful face was gone. I couldn't even stay in the room with her-I was physically sick. I couldn't believe that the woman in that bed was my Angi. It's all I could think about." After a short pause, he adds, "I am such a bastard."  
  
"Blair . . .."  
  
"Look, don't, alright? I know I screwed up. Don't try to make me feel better," he snaps.  
  
"Whoa! Who says I was going to reassure you? Maybe I was going to agree with you," I say.  
  
"Oh. You were?" he asks.  
  
I snort. "No. But I was going to offer a doctor's opinion. Is that okay?"  
  
Blair twists his face up as he considers. He's saved from answering by the doorbell. I wave him down saying it was my idea so I'm paying. He doesn't argue. I bring the pizza's down-I ordered two as I know I tend to get hungry later in the night and will be looking for a snack. We load up our plates and I run upstairs to rustle up a couple of sodas and then rejoin Blair.  
  
We sit and eat in silence. When we're both slowing down, I wipe my mouth and say, "So, about that opinion."  
  
Blair laughs, just a little. "I was hoping you forgot."  
  
"Nope. Brain like a steel trap," I say, pointing to my noggin.  
  
"Riiight," he drawls out.   
  
"You doubt?" I challenge. "How about we play a little one on one and I'll show you the mighty brain at work," I say, getting up to grab the box of Trivial Pursuit I saw nestled over in a nook of shelves.  
  
His eyes are twinkling and I can tell I've got him right where I want him. "You're on," he says.  
  
"Ah, ah. First, the opinion."  
  
He does that eye rolling thing again and I wonder if he's sublimating for the loss of body motion. "Fine. What's your opinion, oh wise and mighty one?"  
  
"Smart-ass," I grumble as I turn to face him. "First off, both your and Angeline's reactions are one hundred percent normal. To begin with, you've both been through a major trauma. That doesn't just affect your bodies. Maybe you thought she was dead-maybe she thought you were dead. It's hard to accept someone telling you the person you love is alive until you see them with your own eyes."  
  
He's nodding so I continue.  
  
"On top of that, you're both confined to your beds, unable to go and see the other. You've got family and friends coming through trying to reassure you that she's alright, that she made it-she's alive. They don't want you to freak, so they probably downplay how bad she was hurt. Families do that. They want to protect you, and frankly, your doctors don't want you to freak either, so they let you go on thinking things aren't quite so bad. And to them, they probably aren't. Angeline was alive, she'd made it through surgery, her body was fighting off any infection. To them, she was doing great.   
  
"Then, one day, you're finally mobile enough to go and see her. Your doctors are confident you're not going to throw a coronary when you see her so they give you more details. But they coat it in med speak. Naomi probably gave you her best pep talk she could muster, not wanting to hurt her baby boy. And I bet all your friends tried to be as encouraging as possible.   
  
"In fact, I'll bet it was Jim who gave it to you straight." Blair nods, his gaze fixed on the wall across from him.  
  
"Told you how bad Angeline was really hurt, what to expect. Even went with your to see her. But by then, it wasn't enough. No matter what anyone told you, all you could think about was that you were finally getting to see the woman you love. You could imagine her sweet smile, her sexy voice, the touch of her hands. Kissing her lips and staring into her beautiful face," I pause, unsure if I'm going in the right direction.  
  
"How'm I doing?" I probe.  
  
Blair wipes a hand across his eyes. "Pretty good," he whispers.  
  
Not wanting to lose this chance, I continue. "You walked into that hospital room, knowing how badly she was hurt, but thinking it won't be that bad. And instead, it was even worse. You'd been given minutes-hours maybe to accept how badly she'd been hurt. It wasn't enough time. And I'll tell you something Blair-it's never enough time. My patients' families tell me all the time, that no matter how well I try to prepare them, they never believe me until they can see it for themselves."  
  
"She hates me," Blair whispers.  
  
"She doesn't hate you. She's scared, she knows how badly she's hurt and she's striking out. She was hurt by your reaction, but only because she expected you to make her feel normal. But you can't do that Blair. No one can. She's going to have to go through the stages of grief before she can accept what's happened to her. Maybe she never will."  
  
"So I'm supposed to just, never see her?" Blair demands, turning to me.  
  
"Hell no! You go to see her as often as you can. Make sure she knows you aren't giving up on her. Don't let her give up on you. Call her room. Demand that her parents give you updates. Send her flowers. Just remember that she needs time, so respect that and don't push too hard."  
  
Blair nods and draws in a shaky breath. "Okay, I thought we were contesting the ingenuous nature of that brain of yours. What are we waiting for?"  
  
Accepting that we're done talking for now, I drag the large coffee table forward and put the game on it. Just as I'm about to roll the die, the doorbell chimes.   
  
"Want me to get that?" I ask. Blair is looking a bit peaked around the edges and I feel bad for pushing him so hard. But from what Naomi'd told me, he needed to hear a few home truths.  
  
He shakes his head and starts to push up. "I need to move around a bit anyway."  
  
"Okay, how about I grab us some refills," and your pain meds, I think to myself.  
  
I pass him and try not to think about whomever it is freezing their hinny off out there. Oh well, if they're friends of Blair's, they'll know to wait. I get to the kitchen when I hear the door open and the stamping of feet.  
  
"Cold out there," echoes up the stairs. Ah, it's Jim. I grab a third soda and head down to join them.  
  
"Duh! It's like, an arctic snow storm out there," Blair chides. He peeks out the door. "Did you shovel?"  
  
"Just your porch."  
  
"And the front walk," Blair adds, peeking out again.  
  
"Get in here," Jim huffs closing the door and locking it. "The maintenance crew hasn't come through yet. You might have needed to get somewhere."  
  
"Yeah, like the garage."  
  
I chuckle as I join them. "Hi Jim. How're you?"  
  
"Jared," he greets me, holding out his hand. "Good to see you again."  
  
I hold up the sodas. "We're just about to engage in a battle of brain cells-care to join us?"  
  
He looks questioningly at Blair who rolls his eyes-again. Definitely some sort of sublimation.  
  
"Trivial Pursuit man."  
  
"Ah, in that case, maybe I'll just sit this one out." He shrugs out of his jacket and shirks his wet shoes. "Is that pizza?"  
  
"Yeah, it's downstairs. Help yourself," Blair answers as he starts to slowly climb down the stairs.  
  
When Blair reaches the bottom, Jim and I follow.   
  
"I've got news," Jim says, pushing the game aside so he can perch on the table.  
  
I expect some sort of witticism out of Blair, but he just nods grimly.   
  
"Do you want me to give you two some privacy?" I ask, standing.  
  
Blair shocks me, saying, "No, stay. You're family."  
  
I sit again and wait for the news.  
  
"We caught her."  
  
"Her?" Blair asks.  
  
"Elizabeth Conklin, Meredosia, Illinois. We knew the postage stamp was from Meredosia, but we had a heck of time tying that to either one of you."  
  
"But now you have," Blair says.  
  
Jim nods. "It took a bit of footwork, but Brown finally got a lead about a girl Angeline went to college with who came from Meredosia. A Nancy Conklin."  
  
Blair's eyes grow wide. "But Nancy's dead."  
  
"And her sister's been holding a grudge for years. We think an article that ran last August profiling Angeline as an up-and-comer in the business world set her off. Turns out Nancy wasn't the only unstable one in that family."  
  
Blair seems to be taking this all in with ease, but I'm completely confused. "So, who was Nancy?"  
  
Blair fills me in on the details about Angeline's first successful venture into the business community and I can feel myself bristle thinking about the damage one screwed up, angry sister has caused.   
  
"So what's going to happen to her?" Blair asks, grimacing a bit as he rolls his shoulders.  
  
Jim cracks open a soda and hands it to Blair. "Take one of your pills, Chief," he says.  
  
Blair grumbles and starts to get up. My face starts to flame as I pull them out of my pocket. "Grabbed them when I went upstairs," I explain hastily. Blair gives me a look that clearly screams, 'You too?' and takes the bottle.  
  
"Gee thanks," he says, sarcastically.  
  
Jim whaps his knee and Blair glares at him. "Respect your elders Junior."   
  
Blair finally fumbles the bottle open and downs a pill, turning expectant eyes to Jim. "So?"  
  
Jim shrugs. "We don't know much yet. When local detectives went out to question the family, Elizabeth began to scream about injustice and how 'that bitch' got hers. She was completely nuts Chief. They had to take her to the local hospital for a psych eval."  
  
Blair's got his face buried in his hands now and his shoulders are shaking.  
  
"Are you okay Blair?" I ask.  
  
His shoulders shrug but otherwise he doesn't move. Jim and I sit quietly until Blair wipes his eyes and lays his head back on the couch cushion.  
  
"What was she thinking?" he whispers hoarsely.  
  
"I doubt she was thinking much at all Blair," Jim answers.  
  
"I thought it would help-knowing that whoever did this is behind bars. But I don't feel better. It was all just so needless." He's silent for a moment before asking, "Does Angi know?"  
  
"Brown and Rafe informed Angi and her parents. She knows."  
  
Blair closes his eyes. "I wish I could see her."  
  
"You will, just hang in there," Jim says, patting his knee. "Do you need anything?"  
  
"No. It's just a shock."  
  
"Maybe you should go to bed. Today probably hasn't been very easy for you," I say.  
  
"Man, you are so not going there. You're not my father you know. Just because a man marries a woman does not make him king of the household. Not to mention, I'm over thirty. You can't tell me what to do."  
  
I'm shocked at the outburst and I look over at Jim. The man looks like he's about to fall over. His face is red and he's sniggering behind his hand.  
  
"You didn't just say what I think you did, did you?" I ask, beginning to see the humor in the situation.  
  
Blair groans and squeezes his eyes shut. "No, no I didn't. I didn't say anything. I'm sleeping actually-can't you tell?" His body relaxes into the couch cushions and really, he feigns sleep quite well.  
  
I turn to Jim. "I could probably use this as blackmail material."  
  
"Be worth a few favors," he agrees.  
  
Blair slits open one eye. "As if," he snorts.  
  
"Don't worry Blair. I'll let it go-for now." I've actually been waiting for some sort of backlash and I feel almost gleeful that it's finally reared its head.   
  
He meets my eyes and gives a tiny nod.   
  
"Now, how about that game?" I shoo Jim off the table and pull the board back to the edge. "Jim? Small Fry here's running on half steam, we can take him," I joke.  
  
Jim settles next to Blair and grabs some leftover pizza. "You're on." 


	8. In Sickness and In Health

I remember the first time I saw Angeline. She was so beautiful sitting there in the conference room at Redwood-so confident. I was so embarrassed when she caught me staring. I could feel my eyes grow wide and I blushed when she smiled, just a little, in response. Maybe it was the lighting, or maybe it was just my eyes, but her hair seemed to shimmer, her eyes sparkled and her lips . . . her lips and the way she ran her tongue over them made me quiver.   
  
I'd felt like I was fifteen again staring at Donna Emerson in math class. Donna was the type girl who wore her sweater just a bit too tight, whose makeup was always perfect, and her skirts always seemed to show off just enough thigh to have all the boys drooling. A hussy, Naomi would have said. But what a hussy.   
  
Only Angeline had style, something Donna never had. And I never felt for Donna what I began to feel for Angeline in the weeks following that first meeting. Angeline was more than just a pretty face or sexy body and that was clear from the get-go. She had brains and more integrity than anyone I had ever met. She was a woman driven and that came through in her division as its sales surpassed any other cosmetic company in the region.   
  
But I'll be honest. I loved Angeline's hair and the way it fell down her back, thick and shiny. I loved her perfect nose and her full, pouty lips. I loved kissing those lips and whispering sexy things into her perfectly shaped ears.   
  
She's different now. She's still beautiful, but I have to remind myself, if just for a second, that this is my Angeline in my arms, or next to me in bed. I wonder as I watch her across the boardroom table if the others sitting around us need to be reminded as well.   
  
Unless you know Angi, know the nightmare the last few years have been, you'd have a hard time guessing that this Angeline is not the Angeline I first fell in love with. The plastic surgeons gave Angi back her face, rebuilt her nose and lips and pieced together a working semblance of an ear. Her head is covered in hair again, thanks to hair plugs, although what was once a thick main is much thinner and far shorter than ever before-just long enough to fall gracefully over the ear that Angi hates the sight of. Despite the work of the doctors, it will never look completely natural.  
  
I can't say that I fell out of love with Angeline, but with my insecurities and her insecurities, things were bad for a long time. She wouldn't let me see her, not even after the burns were beginning to heal. Her family flew in from Texas and some even came from Argentina to be with her. She let them all in-let them all see what the bomb had done. But not once had she asked for me.   
  
I'd done what Jared had said. I sent her flowers and called her room, even stopping by every so often hoping that today would be the day she would relent and let me in. But that day never came. I finally couldn't stand it any longer. I didn't care what Jared said, or what Jim or Arthur tried to tell me-they all sang the same tune: leave her alone, she'll come around. But she wasn't coming around. So I ignored them all and crept into her room after her family had left for the night.   
  
Angeline was not pleased. I was hoping that once I was there, once she had a chance to actually see me, be with me, that she would change her mind and let me stay. Instead, she made it clear that she didn't want me there, didn't need me there and ordered me to leave her alone. I still remember her biting words,  
  
'I've had enough Blair. I can't carry you any longer. I don't have the strength to hold you up-not now. Find someone else because I won't be here anymore. Or better yet, try standing on your own two feet for a change. I'm tired. You've taken too much and I just can't do this again.'  
  
To say I was surprised is an understatement. I was hurt and horrified by what she was saying. Not once had she ever hinted that she felt that way. Did she really feel like I was draining her? Is that how she saw me all this time? As some sort of parasite?   
  
I hadn't felt pain like that since, well, since Jim turned his back on me all those years ago. The hurt was physical and I thought maybe I was dying it was so bad. I couldn't reply, couldn't tell her that she was wrong, that I loved her. I could barely breathe. I saw her hand reach out and her lips were still moving but I couldn't hear her words. The room began to gray and I knew I had to leave, get away from there-away from the woman I thought would be mine forever.   
  
I was supposed to go back to work not long after that fateful day. Instead, I took to my bed, claiming headaches and pain in my back. I refused to get up, unless it was to use the bathroom. I refused visitors and yelled at Naomi when she came to visit. I told her I didn't want her there-didn't need her. And when I realized that I was saying to her what Angeline had said to me, I only felt worse and begged her to forgive me. I began to cry-something I had not been able to do after seeing Angeline. It should have been healing, but instead it fed my grief and I found myself unable to control it.   
  
Soon, Jared was there, poking and prodding, taking my blood pressure and talking about taking me to the hospital for an MRI to be sure my brain was okay. Jim came and I think even Simon and Arthur were there once or twice. In the end, Jared began to feed me Paxil and Naomi brewed teas that she poured down my throat whether I wanted to drink them or not. They made me get out of bed, dressed me, fed me and made me begin to live again.   
  
I hated them so much for that. It wasn't until weeks later, when I was thinking straight, that it occurred to me that Jared should have left long ago. When I asked about his job, Jared put me off with some vague answer about looking for a position closer to Washington. It was Naomi who told me that Jared had lost his job when he left again to be with us.   
  
How could I screw up so much in such a short lifetime? I threw away ten years of school to chase a dream. I followed a man I thought was my Holy Grail into unknown lands only to be abandoned and accused of betrayal. I put my trust in friendships after all the times Naomi told me we could only trust each other. I fell in love with a woman who I thought loved me. But each time, I was proven wrong. Each time I was forced to pick up the shattered pieces and shake myself off, putting a grin on my face to let the world know that it was okay. It hadn't hurt. And now I was the reason another man had lost his dream.  
  
But Jared hadn't blamed me. When I was finally able to get out of bed without someone there to wake me, when I could eat a meal and enjoy it, and smile at my company, I asked him. Why did he come if it meant losing his job? And he told me-because I needed him. It was all still too raw at the time, so I just nodded and swallowed my eggs past the lump that had grown in my throat and blinked back the tears.   
  
Two months after my world shattered, the phone rang heralding the start of something new.  
  
It had been Angeline but not. It was like speaking with a stranger you had shared just a few shallow details of your life with. It was a difficult call to get through. Angi apologized, said that she was afraid and tired and it was so much easier to just rely on her family. She hadn't meant to hurt me like she had-she just wanted to push me away. I said I understood and wished her luck in her recovery and said I'd be here if she needed, or wanted, to talk. I felt so numb talking to her, placating her. Like I wasn't me and she wasn't her. We were strangers in a way we'd never been. I thought that was it. I would never hear from her again.   
  
Only, I did. Short calls, talking about the weather, or work-I'd finally gone back to Redwood. The calls grew more frequent and longer. She'd tell me stories about her family and how they were driving her nuts, and I'd tell her about mine. I finally worked up the nerve to ask about the surgeries and to my relief, and I think hers, she told me.  
  
I became her confidante-a role I never thought I'd be in again. I was glad to be there for her, to listen to her as she described the pain she felt with each new cut of the scalpel. The fear she felt when she thought about her future and how she would have to face the 'real' world again soon. And the anger, finally the gut wrenching anger that just bubbled out and flowed like lava.   
  
I listened but I never shared. It hurt to be afraid of the woman I had once loved, but I was. How could I ever confide in her again with her voice echoing in my head, accusing me of taking too much and draining her dry?  
  
And finally, the day came when she wanted to see me. I thought I'd be able to do it, no problem. But when I tried to leave I found out different. I sat in the car for close to an hour, turning the ignition on, then off again. I finally climbed out and let myself back into the condo. I was afraid and guilty and restless, but I couldn't force myself back into the garage. I remember looking at my office, at the pile of work waiting there. I'd wandered into the rec room but nothing appealed to me. So I went upstairs, ignored the kitchen and climbed into bed. I watched the sun set over the water and felt the air chill around me. I ignored the phone's shrill sound as it rang again and again.  
  
I didn't work up the nerve to call her for over two weeks. It dawned on me then that in all the time we'd been sharing phone conversations, that it had been Angi calling me. Not once had I called her. In those two weeks, I did a lot of thinking and confiding of my own. Only I turned to Jim as my confidante.  
  
Since the bomb, Jim's been right there when I've needed him. It's like he realized that he'd been holding a part of himself back. I don't know what demons he killed but I was glad to have him at my side. He filled my time in the hospital with inane stories of the Major Crimes gang-stories that the others hadn't shared because they were the star stooges. He'd admitted that he had been afraid of getting too close again-of redeveloping an unhealthy codependent relationship. And I know that took a lot of guts for the man to admit. He is so not 'Mr. Feelings'. But I appreciated the effort.   
  
He visited a lot once I was back home and I'd often found him doing things around the condo, like fixing leaky faucets or changing the oil on the car. But he didn't hover. He left that to Naomi. He was just . . . there. The biggest change though, was that he began to tell me things. Things he never willingly told me before. Like how, on William's birthday, he'd gone over to his dad's house with a gift and found his father having a large party he hadn't known about. How hurt he'd been when Steven answered the door. There was a time Jim never would have told me any of that.   
  
So it was Jim to whom I turned. He listened and asked questions and in the end I knew why I was so reluctant to grow any closer to Angeline. She'd rejected me once and it was like the straw that broke the camel's back. I'd had so much rejection in such a short period of time. I'd thought I'd finally found someone who I could trust, after all I'd gone through. And I'd been wrong. I was afraid to try again.   
  
But Jim, he hugged me tight and whispered in my ear how sorry he was that he was the one to make me so afraid to try. I was shocked. I know, and he knows that he threw me to the wolves, but to hear him admit it, admit that what he'd done was still so strong and damaging, well, I was stunned. But he also made me see that people deserved another chance-that Angeline deserved another chance, like Jim had been given. And he was right.  
  
So, after two weeks, I did something I never thought I'd do again. I called Angeline. I apologized, and I confided in her this time. I told her what I was feeling, why I couldn't go to see her. I told her all of my fears. She cried and I cried, and we talked for a long time. And we both felt a difference now that we were both being honest.   
  
No, I didn't go to see her right away. We began to call again-both she and I. And when I was ready, I finally went to see her.   
  
I was shocked at how different she looked. There was still so much damage, so many scars. And the areas the surgeons had worked on had come out different than they'd once been. But this woman, with all of her scars, was the Angeline I had come to know in the past months. And I know that I was not the same man she had once loved.  
  
But we talked and I told her about my back, and the shunt that would stay in my brain until it began to cause problems. I told her about the disabling headaches I still get and the occasional bouts of vertigo. I ran my fingers along her spine to demonstrate where my bones were fused with metal rods.   
  
She told me about the surgeries she'd had and the ones yet to come. She let me touch her nose, feel her lips with my fingertips. I held her hands, both of them, and was grateful that she could still grip me back with her thumb. And after a while, she didn't look like an extra out of one of the "Night of the Living Dead" movies. She was beautiful.  
  
I continued to visit and after awhile, her family stopped giving me the evil eye and started including me in their conversations. When they went for food, they made sure to bring enough back for me. And one day, her mother came in carrying a large box. A box that made Angi groan and cover her face.  
  
The box was filled with photo albums and magazines, and even videotapes. I stayed for hours that night, watching Angi grow up on film. Her mother and father told stories and we laughed. Then, the remaining two aunts and Angi's cousin Manuela filled the time with pictures and stories of their life in Argentina. When I finally left, I was asleep on my feet, but had a ridiculous smile on my face. I also had a standing invitation to visit the family in Argentina.  
  
It's a been a long and tiresome road, but we've made it.   
  
Now, two years later, I can look back and remember without the bittersweet pang of sorrow. My Angi, the Angi I have married today, is so much more than the woman I met in that boardroom-more than the woman who finally let me share her pain. She is a survivor. She is strong and persistent and beautiful.   
  
She is my wife.  
  
A gentle squeeze on my hand brings me back to the present and I smile broadly before pulling the hand of my bride closer, until she is near enough to kiss. I love the feel of her lips on mine, so warm and soft. After a moment, she pulls away.  
  
"Wow," she murmurs, touching her lips with her fingertips. "Wherever you just went, you need to go there more often."  
  
I shake my head and lean in again, brushing a feather light kiss across her cheek, and whisper in her ear, "No, this is where I need to be. Right here, right now, with you."  
  
Angi is blinking back tears as I pull away. "I love you Mr. Sandburg," she declares, somewhat huskily, her voice tight with emotion.  
  
"And I love you, Mrs. Sandburg."  
  
We sit and stare at each other for a minute before Angi begins to laugh. I join in and after a few minutes we begin to calm down.   
  
"Senora Sandburg," Angi says, as though she's testing its flavor.  
  
"Si, mi esposa," I reply, grinning. "Mrs. Sandburg. It's got a nice ring to it, if I do say so myself."  
  
"Mi esposo," Angi says, sliding out of her chair and kneeling between my legs. Her dress flutters out around us, finally settling like a silk blanket to the floor. She grabs a small sandwich off the plate sitting in front of me and breaks off a small piece.   
  
"We must eat," she declares before feeding me the small bite. I grin and suck on her fingers before she pulls them away.  
  
"Eat now, play later," she scolds, biting into the remainder of the sandwich. I open my mouth to protest just as my stomach rumbles loudly and defiantly.  
  
She smirks but says nothing as she retrieves more food off the plate. We eat in silence for awhile and as she feeds me small bites, I run my hand over her veil and down her back. She leans into the touch and I begin to massage her shoulders in earnest.   
  
"Mmn," she moans. "That feels exquisite-don't stop."  
  
It had been a long week without her and I'm relieved it's finally over. From the reaction I'm getting from Angeline, she feels the same. I'm a strong believer in tradition, but a week without seeing the love of my life was sheer torture!   
  
My touches slow and my hands begin to remember the feel of Angeline beneath them. I'm aroused now and the way Angi moans as my fingers ghost over her dress tells me she is as well. We begin to kiss and I fumble with the pearl buttons on the back of her dress. I manage to get three undone before a sharp rap at the door signals that we have company.  
  
Angi pulls away quickly but I grab her and pull her back into my arms.   
  
"No, they will see!" she protests, giggling.  
  
"My cufflink is caught!" I hiss back, making her giggle even harder.  
  
Another tap on the door followed by, "You two decent in there?" Damn, it's Jared and that means Jim and probably Arthur are there as well.  
  
"Um, just a minute!" I call back. I tug my hand and fumble to release my sleeve. I finally manage to free myself and hurry to redo the buttons on Angi's dress.  
  
"Rapido!" she breathes, still giggling and now hiccuping as well.   
  
I finish and any telltale signs of what we were doing have been erased. I stride to the door and unlock it, pulling it open. As I thought, my step-father and my best friends are waiting impatiently.  
  
"Dinner's almost over," Arthur says pushing past me and sidling up to Angi. "The guests are restless." He takes her arm and guides her over to my side, slipping her hand onto my arm. Then, he gives us both a little shove and we're on our way back to the reception hall.  
  
The evening passes in a blur of dancing guests, the murmur of blessings, and free flowing wine. The last dance of the evening is the tango and Angi glides into my arms effortlessly. I don't realize that the floor has been cleared until the music dwindles to an end and I look away from my love to see we are the center of attention.  
  
My face flames and Angi moves closer, wrapping both arms around my waist and laying her head on my chest. I'm surprised by such a tender move in front of all of our friends and family, and enclose her in my own embrace.   
  
Angi finally pulls away and we move through the crowd to the doors, accepting hugs, kisses and handshakes as we go. I pause at the door and look back at the sea of faces, friends and family, old and new, who've joined us to bless our marriage: Naomi, Jared, Jim, Arthur and Marissa, Ken and Marla, and Simon surrounded by the Major Crimes gang, and finally Oscar and Elena Mercado. They're all raising their glasses in a salute and I slip through the open door before I can make a fool out of myself.  
  
With Angeline at my side, I feel better than I've felt in quite awhile. It's been a long road, but we've made it. I can't help but wonder though, what our future holds for us. 


	9. What the Future Holds

I'm laying on the bed, my head resting on my paws, waiting. Jody is waiting too, but he's not on the bed. He's kneeling on the chair, staring out the window. I wish he would come and get me-I want to look out the window too, but he leaves me here so I just rest and wait.  
  
Jody doesn't like to wait. He likes to run from room to room, in and out the doors asking if it's time yet. It wasn't time yet, but it was time for a nap. Jody's daddy said so. But Jody won't lay down with me. It's lonely here on the bed by myself.  
  
Finally, a car door slams and my ears perk forward. It's time! Suddenly Jody's not on the chair anymore, he's here pulling me off the bed. I settle in under his arm as he yanks open the door and screams, "It's time!"  
  
Then we're flying down the hallway and thumping down the stairs and when we get to the bottom, we're swept up into strong arms and swung around.  
  
Wee! Jody is giggling and squeezing me so tight I have to gasp for air. But I'm giggling too because Jody is holding me out and I'm flying!  
  
But then we stop and Jody begins to pout. "More!" he cries as I pounce on the strong shoulder in front of me.   
  
"I'm not as strong as I used to be, Munchkin," Uncle Jim says.  
  
But Jody pouts louder and demands "More!"  
  
So Uncle Jim swings us around one more time before lowering us to the floor. "How's that?" he asks as he rumples Jody's curly brown hair.  
  
"Perfect!" Jody agrees, hugging Uncle Jim's legs. Jody likes it when Uncle Jim picks him up, cuz Daddy Blair can't. Oh, Daddy Blair snuggles better than anyone in the wholest entire world, but his back is hurt and he can't hold us up. So Uncle Jim does it for him. S'what an uncle is supposed to do.  
  
"So where's the birthday boy?" Uncle Jim asks, putting his hand over his eyes and looking down the empty hall.  
  
"Here! Here I am!" shouts Jody, jumping up and down, waving his arms.  
  
"No! You? But you just turned five. Nah, it's not your birthday again," Uncle Jim says as he begins to peek around doors.  
  
"Is too!" Jody says, stamping his foot. It's a good thing he forgot to put his shoes on, or Daddy Blair would be here scolding him for making so much noise.  
  
Uncle Jim disappears around a corner and then he's back again. He's pulling Daddy Blair into the hall. "I found the birthday boy!" he says.  
  
"No," Jody says, beginning to sniffle. "I'm the birthday boy."  
  
I try to cuddle closer to make him feel better and Jody leans down, rubbing his face in my fur. Poor Jody. It really is his birthday, but everyone must've forgot.  
  
I can hear Daddy Blair whisper to Uncle Jim and Uncle Jim cries out, "It really is?" and Daddy Blair nods. Suddenly we're lifted high above Uncle Jim's head and settled on his shoulders. I'm sitting on top of Uncle Jim's head and I can see him looking way up at us.   
  
"Why, I'll be, it really is your birthday Munchkin! Now how'd that happen?"  
  
Jody shrugs and giggles and I bounce a bit on Uncle Jim's head.  
  
"Well, we'd better go get your presents then," Uncle Jim says.  
  
"Pressies!" Jody yells, pointing to the front door. And then I'm flying again, through the door and into the bright sunshine. I leap through the air and come to land on top of Uncle Jim's truck. It's hot up here and my paws tingle, but I sit still and watch as Jody's arms are filled with pressies. I whimper a little as Uncle Jim and Jody walk away, and I'm left alone.  
  
I sigh and wait, and watch Janie next door water her flowers. I'm almost asleep when another car pulls in behind me and beeps its horn. It's Gamma Nomi and Gamps! I try to sit up tall, hoping that they'll see me. Jody runs from the house again and I bark, just a little, just enough so he'll hear me. But he runs by me. I watch as he gets hugged and cuddled and picked up again. I watch as the three of them laugh and walk into the house.   
  
I'm not afraid. Not really. Not more than just a little bit. Cuz I'm a wolf, and wolfs don't get scared. Daddy Blair said so and he's always right. So I'm not scared, I'm just-lonely.  
  
So I wait some more and soon another car comes. It's Papa Oscar and Gran'mama Elena! I bark and wag my tail and drool a bit. I watch as the front door opens again and this time it's Mama Angel, and she's holding Jody's hand. Jody's scared of Papa Oscar, just a little, and Mama Angel always holds his hand when he first sees Papa. And then everything is okay and Jody doesn't remember being scared.  
  
I watch as they hug and Jody is given more pressies to carry. I stretch my neck and wag my tail as they walk by and suddenly Papa Oscar sees me and says, "What's this?"  
  
He settles me on his shoulder and we're the last ones in the door. The house is loud and I hear Jody laughing somewhere. Papa Oscar carries me into the living room and sets me on the top of the couch. He pats my head and I want to lick his hand, but I can't, so I just pretend I did. But then he leaves me and I'm alone again, but this time I'm in the house.  
  
I hear more laughter and a loud, booming voice. Uncle Simon is here! I wag my tail and wiggle in my perch, but I have to wait. Soon though, Jody runs in and he's followed by a whole parade! He sees me sitting on the couch and runs to me, and hugs me tight. Oh, it feels so nice! Daddy Blair comes over and sits on the couch, and Jody and I get to sit on his lap. I love sitting on Daddy Blair's lap. He cuddles us and rocks us and sings to us when no one else is around. I like that best.  
  
Mama Angel sits next to us and everyone sits around us! It's so exciting! I think we get to open pressies now! Uncle Simon is in the chair next to Daddy Blair and us, and when Gamma Nomi gives Jody a pressie, I get to sit in Uncle Simon's lap. Uncle Simon likes to pet me and it tickles. I try not to make noise though.   
  
Once and a while, I pounce over to the couch to see what Jody got and I even yip a little bit in excitement. Everyone laughs and then I sit in Uncle Simon's lap again.   
  
Jody gets lots of pressies. Just when I think there are no more pressies, Uncle Jim gives Jody another one. It jumps on Jody's lap and I can hear little growly noises coming from under the paper. I whimper, just a little, and wonder what it is. Jody stares at it, and squeezes it and pokes at it before finally tearing off the paper. It's a cat! A wild cat, fierce and strong. It's got black fur and green eyes and it growls at me. I creep closer and smell it and feeling brave, I rub up against the kitty just a bit. It purrs and rubs back!   
  
Jody squeals and claps his hands before scooping us both up in his arms. It's a Jody hug and nobody hugs better than Jody.  
  
Mama Angel slides off the couch and bends over to kiss Jody, then me and the kitty. "Be right back," she promises, smiling. I love Mama Angel. She is so beautiful. She smiles a lot, especially at Daddy Blair and Jody, but she smiles at me too, even when no one is looking. She tells me secrets too, as she strokes my fur. About how she is different than other mama's, and shows me her special hand. She tells me to take care of Jody, because sometimes other kids tease him. They say mean things about Mama Angel and Daddy Blair. I've heard them too, but I just growl and chase them and they take it back. Sometimes it makes Jody cry though.   
  
Mama Angel and Daddy Blair went to school with Jody one day, and I got to go too! They talked to the kids about why Daddy Blair can't pick Jody up, but they all laughed and agreed it's just as good to be cuddled in someone's lap. Mama Angel showed the kids her little ear and her special hand and they all thought that was neat. They don't tease Jody any more, but sometimes other kids do. It still hurts his feelings but we just ignore them.  
  
Gran'mama Elena calls us into the dining room and we all rush in to see a great big cake decorated with a truck and it's all lit up with candles! Jody squeals and claps his hands. Soon everyone is singing and Jody is making a wish and then I get to help blow out all the candles.  
  
Jody helps hand out cake to Uncle Rafe and Uncle Henri, but Uncle Artie says he'll just eat Jody's cake. Jody laughs and shakes his head.   
  
"No, no, no," he says. "Eat your cake," he demands, pushing a big piece into Uncle Artie's hands. Uncle Artie leans over and gives Jody a big, wet kiss on the cheek.   
  
"Ewww!" Jody squeals. Uncle Artie just laughs and goes away. Uncle Simon turns his head and looks at us.   
  
"Free kisses?" he asks, coming our way.  
  
"No! No more kissies. Cake!" Jody says, crossing his arms and glaring at Uncle Simon.   
  
Everyone laughs and we all go back to eating the yummy cake. Before we're done, I start to yawn and Jody does too.  
  
"Tired baby?" Suddenly Mama Angel is there and we're being lifted up into her arms. We're too heavy, but she lifts us anyway. Then someone else is holding us and we're going up the stairs. My eyes are closed but I'm not sleeping! I'm much too excited to sleep.   
  
I sigh as I settle on the bed and soon Kitty is there too, purring and snuggling. Then Jody's there and we're all snuggling tightly together. I don't mind when I get kissed three times. I like kissies. Jody pretends he doesn't, but he does too.   
  
I'm not tired, but it's been a long day, so I think I'll just rest my eyes a bit. But . . . I'm not sleep . . .. 


End file.
